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.

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!

Triumphant return

1. And I quote fishboy:

So.

Seems like I will be resuming my usual modus craperandi of irregular and erratic updates with little content or interest.

Start as you intend to continue I say!

My thoughts exactly.

2. The yoga addiction has developed; it's a good thing. I won't elaborate today because people will call me a hippie, say that I smell and throw rotten vegetables at me. That's what J was saying until I got him hooked too, so, ha! Six packs in the House of Y!

3. Since September.. since September things have happened, plane tickets to California were purchased, and much fun and sex was had by yours truly.

Then reality kicked in, can you see the bruise?

I have exactly 156 pages of fun, sex and reality, but they are real, paper pages, covered in blue ink and honestly.. it's all drama. Pff.
Better offer a summary. So: fun, sex, reality, that's all I'm saying for now.

4. Might well be back to this blogging lark, seriously.

I have secret dreams of moving into my grandmother’s house in the middle of nowhere. I’d chop my own wood and not watch the 8 o’clock news on any of the six tv channels. I would only have a shower every other day in winter because there is no heating in the bathroom. I would have two dogs and go for walks on frosty mornings and miss big cities.

I have secret dreams of being a 27-year-old middle class American female, and living with my husband in a tiny northern Californian town. Our house would have a fireplace and a hot tub and it would smell of woods and we would drive our suv to go grocery shopping, and rent movies on Friday nights. We would probably have two kids, and I would worry about what school to send them to.

I have secret dreams of moving to a Spanish village, and cursing the heat six months in the year. I would grow my hair and go out in the evenings, and be the foreigner who knows all the slang words and who shuns other foreigners.

I have secret dreams of leaving, always, no matter where I am.

I’m training for when I’m old, talking to squirrels in the park. Just to make sure I don’t mix them up, they’re all called Damien. Yesterday I was walking home and Damien was sitting on a high branch, screaming like I didn’t think a squirrel could scream. I don’t think he was shouting abuse at me. What to do, what to do? Squirrel in pain? Squirrel tantrum? Along the path I met another: Quick, Damien, I said, your friend over there needs help. He darted off like a squirrel on a mission, and I pretended there was such a thing as a squirrel solidarity network.