Blogfolks, after twelve (12) days of Christmas-related limbo, today is the day when I hop back onto the Glorious Eurostar and go back home.

I am limp with inactivity.
If you are what you eat, I am curently a gigantic piece of chocolate.
My brain cells put up a 'away on holiday' sign over a week ago and have gone missing ever since.
I have tiny little tangles in my hair.

But! as soon as I get home, I will have to resort to extreme measures to turn back into the lively, witty, shiny and ever so enticing, albeit sweaty-palmed creature I can be - tomorrow is date II, at long last and what have I been doing with my life, Christmas should be abolished.

Wish me luck!

I am about 800 miles and 9 days away from Date II, the one that, in popular lore, makes* or breaks.**

Doesn't it?

In the meantime, exiled and bored and trying to not perspire in anticipation, I turn to friends for advice.
What to do, play it cool, remain elusive and non-committal, or just admit that yes if I could beam myself anywhere in the world right this second it'd more than likely be into his bed?

One does not want to be thought easy.

But one is definitely feeling very eager.

- What's your man-date upto over Christmas? asks Lady J, who, most generously, doesn't think ill of me for having a man-date in the first place.
- My man-date (I'll call him John when/if he becomes more than a date, let's not jinx it) is going up to Wales. In the meantime, we email. I reckon someone who writes 'Wish you were curled up under my blanket with me tonight watching a film' has to have honourable intentions, wouldn't you say?....
- Aww I like mandatejohn already. Do you know much about him and his life? Kids? Interests? Ambitions? Hobbies? Starsign?!!!! 
- Actually I don't know 2 crucial, life-defining things : 
1) his starsign 
2) if he likes cats. 
The problem of course is that these are extremely girly questions to ask. And what if he turns out to 1) be scorpio with pisces rising 2) hate them? Should I run in the opposite direction? What do you think?
 - Whassuup with the scorpio with pisces rising combo? (Aside from being terribly conflicted, naturally). And, you can always ditch the cat and get a puppy/snake/rat/stick insect, depending on his petual tastes. His job and life sound interesting. Maybe you could serve as a muse for a book about lesbianswhomandate.


I believe that as I type, Lady J is creating www.lesbianswhomandate.com and giggling about it, too. Off to the kitchen now, just to check that Glögg really is as lovely as I think.

*general sexiness is confirmed
**diaper fetish is revealed

Anita is on a mission.

- This one, no. Next.

- Why not?

- Not good looking enough for you. Next!

- But.. if he's ugly then I won't feel inadequate!

- Aha, this one there...

She reads out the poor unsuspecting man's profile, commenting on punctuation, use of vocabulary,  alleged relationship history and looks.

- Write to him. This one.

So I did.

Four days later; there was a Date.

A five hour date, the type of date where, unfortunately for a blogger, there was nothing to poke fun at, no-one to ridicule, nothing to sigh about and swear I'll never do that again. A seriously fun date of conversation, food, laughter and obvious mutual attraction.

I am so boring sometimes! I'm sorry, blogfolks.

Let's see how it goes - it is bound to go seriously wrong next time, when I find out about his diaper fetish. In the meantime, I'll be over here for Christmas, trying to not get too excited.

Be well!

Anita sits me down and faces me, almost sternly:

-Girl, you need to go out and get yourself a couple of dates.
-You don't mean the fruit, do you?
-No, man.
-But.. but.......This House Believes that it's perfectly fine to pine for a lover who's already involved, too far away, and to hope that he's going to figure it out, leave everything and ask me to marry him!
-Well, This House Believes that the other House is full of shit. That man doesn't know what he wants, girl.

Anita says 'girl' and 'man' a lot; that's because she's from the Carribean.

-Go get yourself signed up on that dating site thing. I'll help you check them out and pick a decent man.

Perhaps Anita is my Carribean fairy godmother.

Blogfolks, it never ceases to amaze me the large percentage of the public who are idiotic enough to make athletes their role-models.

And quite frankly, I would question if Tiger Woods is an athlete in the true sense of the word - the man hits little balls with a stick.

That's all.

Unless he does prefer to eat the rude

8PM. The posh car* has to stop at the light to let us cross. We take our time.
The windows are rolled down, symphonic music, perhaps a tiny bit too loud.
There's a silky haired blonde in the passenger seat.

-Smooth guy.
-Yep, says J. Do you think he's an Hannibal Lecter type? Expensive life style, caviar, the best music?

The light's gone green, foot on the accelerator, too much, just too much, the posh car speeds away, trying to impress the blonde maybe?

- Nah; no sophisticated, cultured serial killer here; he's just a rich wanker.
- Yes; also he probably listens to Classic FM anyway. The radio for people who don't actually like classical music.
- No redemption possible there. Shame. I shake my head in regret.
- Well at least he won't eat her brain for dinner.


*I don't know what make it is, I know fuck all about cars, nor do I care.

This bar of shampoo will last longer than most relationships, II

This week, and since history tends to repeat itself, even after 6 years of therapy, I have been shaking my hair, because it smells so nice!
I've also been thinking I was much funnier in 2006
On the other hand, I'm also much happier and a much more interesting person in 2009. Let's go and ask my many friends, my long-term, committed partner and my two children.

Ah.

Let's file this post under 'self-delusion', then.
Hopefully, the next one will be in 'the wonderful world of dating'. Be well!

Til I find my own (they're in there somewhere, being shy, probably), a few words by Ibsen:

To live is to battle with trolls
in the vaults of heart and brain.
To write : that is to sit
in judgment over one's self.


Be well, and if you live where I live, I hope you own a pair of wellies.