Monthly Archives: October 2012
First day of a week off.
- I made pizza from scratch for the first time (Breakfast Pizza from Joy The Baker). It was goood. And cheap, which is always appreciated.
- Watched the live feed of The Weather Channel as Sandy makes an entrance. Jim Cantore in a wetsuit ahoy!
- Did washing up.
- Browsed furniture online as I considered my space and financial options if I move home. I’d like, for once, to not have to go for the cheapest option.
- Filling out budget spreadsheets.
- Paired socks.
- Ate a homemade muffin with my cup of tea.
- Listened to Jones and X.Ray ramble on about Sandy.
- Put things on my birthday list.
- Tried to decide when to arrange my birthday meetup.
- Thought about massage a lot. NYT – My Multiday Massage-a-Thon
- Am waiting for payday (Wednesday).
Beverages with Leia Ewok Village and Flambé this evening. Looking forward to sliding under my duvet plus Mum’s quilt combination that I have going on at the moment. May get my hot water bottle action on whoooooooo.
Yes, so the weather has turned cold enough for me to roll out the hat, down jacket and gloves; I can’t remember when I last more my duvet jacket, but i’m sure it was when me and Coppell were still together, as when I put it on today I caught the scent of him and his Pittsburgh apartment, which made me feel pretty sad. Meathead used to pull my jacket off the sofa and curl up in it to sleep, so the scent of his cologne plus dog makes me feel lonesome. SIGH.
Aaaaanyway, I went on a date with an actual man – GTX – whom I passed the time easily with, however following up with him he wanted to see me again as a friend, so I said no thanks to that. He lived a bit too far away, and although dapper, it’s that whole conundrum of if you get on well with someone is that on the basis of some sort of attraction or on a puppy dogs and ice-cream vibe.
It was an enjoyable evening out despite the result, and i’m making good progress on getting rid of the butterflies that inhabit me pre-first date. I think this might be down to not-giving-much-of-a-fuck syndrome. Not quite fatalistic, but veering close to it; I go into the evening optimistically but realistically, understanding that a few hours spent with someone new is not the be all and end all, and trying someone on is something good to do, even if naught longer comes of it.
Who’dve thunk it? After actively deceiving me over the course of months, cheating on me repeatedly, bragging of his exploits online and lying about it when confronted with the truth, Coppell sent me an email. Telling me that he’d been thinking of me.
This is after six months of ZERO communication.
He’d said he’d been thinking of me because it’s the time of year we got together, and that he’d thought of me frequently over the last six months. He said he didn’t contact me, as he thought i’d be going through a hard time, and that he didn’t want to reach out in a “moment of weakness”.
He said he wanted to let me know he’d moved out of town, something I already knew (thanks, internet), so that I could “stroll freely” near my home. Yeah, because spending six months worrying every time I went out of my front door i’d bump into him (he lived just round the corner) was just hi-larious.
I explained to him how i’d made a lot of progress, but that the last six months had been incredibly hard at times, how try-as-I-might I still think of him, and how I know the next six months are going to be difficult too, as the memories of the time we spent together will pop up to haunt me.
I’m dreading Christmas.
Anyway, he proceeded to tell me how in all his relationships since me he’s been “open and transparent” with everyone as he didn’t want to cause anyone as much upset as he did me, and that it “broke his heart” to see how upset I was. That he’s been dating and enjoys the freedom of being non-monogamous.
He also told me that instead of reaching out to me, he’d focused on his diet and exercised a lot, and had lost 27kg. And how women openly flirt with him and how it’s “shocking”.
He thanked me for being supportive about his body when he was “fat”; I replied that I loved him, and support comes as standard when you care deeply for someone. I asked how Meathead was. He didn’t furnish me with any information.
I asked if the only thing he regretted with regards “us” is that he didn’t tell me he wanted a non-monogamous relationship. He said yes. I thanked him for the insight.
HOLY FUCK. What to say?
“You want praise for your weight loss? You want to be told how ‘hot’ you are now? You want to be congratulated on not fucking over other women? I am not the one to seek validation from.“
It’s my own fault for even engaging him in correspondence, but it’s clear that there’s a part of me that still longs for answers, where there really aren’t any to find. I can analyse the man’s actions ’til the cows mosey on home, but that’s involving myself in something I need to move beyond.
I just could not believe why on earth anyone would write to their ex, who they dumped, who they’d made very clear they never wanted to hear from ever again, and spend the time writing about how great their fucking life was. WHY would anyone do that?
So I wrote him a detailed email providing a bit of guidance to help with his reflection – not a strong point of his – outlining just what he did that was wrong. I told him his emails were upsetting, and that I thought the best thing would be to never contact me unless
1. He wants to fill me in on Meathead’s progress
2. He wants to engage in some considered, deep reflection on his actions in our relationship, or
3. He’s being monogamous.
I think it’s the memories of our time together and the darkening days and chillier weather the prompts me, but I really feel like I just can’t be bothered with men right now. I just want a better place to live and a dog. That is all.
Me and no-one went together to see my beloved Chilly Gonzales last night at the Barbican. He was AWESOME.
He debuted his new piano concerto and after playing it alongside the BBC Symphony Orchestra (dressed in slippers, pyjamas and silk smoking jacket of course), proceeded to crowd surf down the stalls in the concert hall. Whilst rapping. And asking the crowd not to drop him as he had no insurance.
I LOVE him.
I’ve only ever seen him before at a very intimate, cabaret-style venue, where he was sat at his piano two metres away from me, so it was weird sitting with nearly two thousand other people who love him too. I think a lot of people were there to listen to the classical side of his work, so how prepared they were to hear him rap about being like a “gay jazz musician, I come out swinging” and “my brain’s dead, ‘cos my dick is thinkin'” and swearing a pleasing amount I am not too sure.
I do like it when he’s vulgar. Hurrah.
I’ve applied for a new job. It took me about a week to write my letter of application and fill in the forms – I was woefully bad on the chronology of my employment and education – but today I sent off all the necessary bumpf. Hoo-fucking-rah.
The school in question is private, and the sort of place where the children of rockstars and dictators go to be educated. It’s also in London. Aaand a Head of Department post. So, the chances are not good on my getting a call to interview, even if I could do the job with one hand tied behind my back in less than adequate lighting. Flambé is also applying, and I would imagine that half of Britain will be doing similarly.
Even if nothing comes of it, at least i’ve gone through the process and things will take much less time when I next find myself applying.
When I first set eyes on Sasha Grey I immediately thought, “Oh.”
When he introduced himself I thought, “It’s been thirty seconds, don’t be hasty. Sour breath and questionable dental work be damned.”
After five minutes: “Hmm… no spark here at all. Oh dear. Can I leave now?”
But still, I kept talking to him. For HOURS. It was bad. He would laugh before making his point, and was far too mellow for my liking; I want someone to take a bit of a stand. I must learn how to be more assertive and end things that aren’t going anywhere earlier.
Please could I have someone new to crush upon? A new masturbatory fantasy to occupy? How I long for the days of yore, when George Clooney and Owen Wilson filled my brain…
Rather than the melange of Kennebec and Coppell that pops into my head when I reach into my toy drawer, it’d be nice to have a different all-consuming mental image. Why is it I can’t get lost in the depths of crushdom like I used to? Celebucrushes seem so very unsatisfying. Is this because they can’t compare to someone in the same room? Surely part of the joy of the unobtainable is just that, the distance. Hmmpf.
“This conjuring ability to create fantasy scenes in our heads that literally bring us to orgasm when conveniently paired with our dexterous appendages is an evolutionary magic trick that I suspect is uniquely human. It requires a cognitive capacity called mental representation (an internal “re-presentation” of a previously experienced image or some other sensory input) that many evolutionary theorists believe is a relatively recent hominid innovation.”
Last weekend I went to visit my brother whilst the parentals are away on holiday. It was nice to see him and not be stressed out by my Dad or pestered by my Mum; we didn’t do much aside from eat, chat and watch films, but it was great to spend time in his company. I really should do it more often, but it’s difficult when he’s living at home at the moment.
This weekend i’m heading into Lahndahn tahn to meet up with a guy – Sasha Grey – i’ve been in email conversation with over the last two or three weeks. He’s London-based, but is a hilariously high percentage match, so I thought it would be interesting to see how this number equates – or not – with the person themselves.
He’s an excellent writer, and did his thesis on (apparently) the “feminist pornography debates” which is all kinds of brilliant. We’re going to meet for some coffee, chat and wandering about the South Bank, so even if everything goes tits up (not that i’m terribly afraid of that happening – hello the new blasé me) i’ve got lots I can look at whilst giggling to myself about the absurdity of it all.
Finally got around to seeing The Dark Knight Rises. It was more than a little weird seeing Bane tearing up Heinz Field, and the Batpod careering down the mini-Manhattan that is downtown Pittsburgh.
I enjoyed it overall; it was less cinematic than The Dark Knight, but TDK needs the last quarter lopped off, whereas this didn’t. Worth a second viewing methinks.