Purposeless

1) I know. Distinct lack of update. But you see, this is what happened, and I'm not making anything up or anything:

2) I was kidnapped by strangers, thrown into the back of an unmarked white van and driven, bound and gagged and kicking, to an unknown location. 'No! I shouted through the fitly rag covering my mouth, You can't ! I have responsibilities! I have a readership! Of at least 30 people! I can't leave them without an update on the wondrous life of Y! And who will feed the cat? I kicked and thrashed in spite of the bondage white tape binding me. Then one of my kidnappers, breathing a lager and vinegar crisps kind of breath, said that a bunch of fed up readers had in fact paid them good money to kidnap me, tie me up, gag me and throw me into the back of that white van, and that later on I would be sleeping with the fishes, as they say in that movie. Oh, I said quietly. Fine. If I come out of it alive, I promise my blogposts won't expand on the shiny happiness that is my daily existence. Later on I escaped, because I was brought up on Nancy Drew and I'm incredibly resourceful. On that note, I 've always wondered why in the French translation she is called Alice Roy. Mmm? Anyone?

3) I'm so lying. The white van, the lager and vinegar crisps breath, the gag, the kicking, the fishes and the money are all inventions. The bondage tape, on the other hand..

4) I have spent most of the week being bored at work, so bored that I have tried to finish all my sentences with "In accordance with the prophecy." People didn't react, so I considered stapling myself to my desk for excitement. Or stapling someone else to my desk. Or as often as possible, skip rather than walk. Or write in a colleague's planner, in the 10am slot: "See how I look in tights." In my book, if it's not forbidden, it's allowed.
Just bored.

5) last night I dreamt that the French president was dead. Mm. Interesting choice of embodiment for my father/autority figure. What do I do now? Organise elections and find a new one? Suggestions, people of blogland, please.

6) I'm being ridiculously happy.

So much to do in London on a Sunday afternoon

1) I gave the
non sexual vegan and vegetarian gay group indoor veggie picnic

(as advertised in Time Out, do check, I’m not making it up) a miss,

2) and dragged my lover to a dark room for 153 minutes

3) to see Kings and Queen, which features a large number of unhinged people with anger management issues, and queasy camera work, then

4) later, back outside in the bleak June afternoon we were slightly dispirited so

5) I took her home and to bed, and drew the curtains because otherwise my neighbours get to know precisely what I’m up to and

6) this morning all I could think about was when I flipped her over onto her stomach and

7) I couldn’t concentrate on my work at all.

Confession

She says: sometimes you only have to look at me.

I think: I know.

She writes: I have to go to a meeting now , where I not only have to participate ... I have to be pro-active .... problems & solutions and stuff ... be answerable & make sense ... make notes & implement things .... justify myself and be accountable .... and I’m still wet .....

I think: so you should be.


It’s a form of power, isn’t it.
And I have to confess I’m enjoying it.
At this point, I have to be honest, step off my proud pedestal, and add that it’s shared and reciprocal.

Adventures in gayland

1) I work with a somewhat cute guy in his late thirties, nice eyes, bright smile, impeccable sense of dress, and unmistakably camp mannerisms; not gay, no, ever since he was 15 people have been asking him, but he’s straight, although not in any kind of a relationship, and waiting for The One. (noun, feminine singular)
Although those two things are unrelated, Michael is a born-again Christian and cycles to work. Nice legs, I chirp. Thank you, he gushes. Not that nice, really, I was wearing a dress for a fancy dress part once, borrowed from a friend of mine.. dreamy blank. It was a very nice burnt orange thing, very unusual, perfect cut. I smile and refrain the urge to wink knowingly. Not gay, just a cross dresser, then? After a pause, he adds: I wish I had seen her in it, though. The afterthought doesn’t quite ring genuine.

2) The person sitting three seats away across from me on the tube could either be a very cute, delicately featured 16 year old boy, or a very short-haired lesbian. I stare. I can’t help but stare. I look for clues. Impossible to tell from this distance. Then she looks up from her book and returns the stare. I don’t think a 15 year old boy would hold my gaze this steadily.eventually I’m the one who has to look down.

Update : the Week End by the Sea

1) Contrary to what Greavsie's (anxious? hopeful?) line of questioning might have led you to believe, people of Blogland, I am not still stuck in the shower. When I said that it did indeed fit two people, I meant in a graceful, photogenic kind of way. Not stuck.

2) No I did not catch any crabs…

3) But we did a lot of eating out….

4) I suspect that in the Big Book of Lesbian Mythology, a weekend by the sea with your lover falls into the chapter entitled 'Possibly Pivotal'. This one was delightful; yet this breezy, one-day-at-a-time policy we're implementing (no U hauls, no marriage proposals, no shared felines, and absolutely no matching accoutrements) means that it was just that.. a week end by the sea with my lover.

5) Strolls in the cold wind, seashells on the seashore, seagulls splatter, greasy fish and chips; and smoking hot sex.

6) sex in the shower is definitely not one of those overrated things that you try once, get bruises from, just for the sake of having done it . Unlike the back of cars, or skateboarding ramps, or cemeteries in December, or phone booths, which were all a bit of a disappointment.

7) on the train back to London, she leaned over and for a few seconds rested her head in my lap; I couldn't decide if I wanted to stroke her (very short) hair, or bite the back of her neck. I only did the former, but only because there were people watching.

8) Yes, I would definitely go away with her again.

J didn't bludgeon me to death with a hammer for eating all the rhubarb crumble

1) in true blogger style, on Friday morning I should have posted 'Bollocks to this, I'm off to the seaside' but I didn't have a minute.

2) I went off to the seaside.

3) The shower did fit two people.

4) update tomorrow. I think.

Scruples versus need

"My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it's on your plate."
-Thornton Wilder

1. Since this morning when I got up at stupid o’clock I’ve eaten every single sweet thing I could get my hands on.

2. Should I eat the second (and last) Rhubarb crumble? Technically it isn’t mine, it belongs to J.

3. J doesn’t know that the second (and last) Rhubarb crumble belongs to him.

4. So I could just eat it and cunningly hide the packaging.
Perhaps he’d never find out. Perhaps he would find out and forgive me in my hour of need. Perhaps he would bludgeon me to death with a blunt hammer.

5. J is reasonably calm, but is prone to violence if dessert is involved.

6. Fuck it, I’ll take my chances.
And hide the hammer.

Here and now

People of blogland, just now I took a moment to contemplate the many delights of
dating
seeing
someone who actually lives in the same city as I do.

No more life put on hold for weeks and months.
No more of this incessant waiting, for the next phone call, the next email, the next flight there, and losing sleep over the next argument, the next misunderstanding that arise out of not being able to see each other, the next flight back.

I’m all giddy with being able to live in the present.

People of Blogland, I have some serious questions.

1. Is there a cut off age for making out in cinemas, and if yes, what is it?
2. Have I been suddenly rewired? How else can I explain sudden explosions that happen whenever I put my hand under my lover’s tshirt?
3. Is it so wrong to whisper filth into someone’s ear as the opening credits for ‘Downfall’ appear on the screen and everyone else is bracing themselves for a harrowing war film?
4. In this B&B by the sea we’re eloping to at the end of the week, will the shower fit two people?

Such a hard life.

Curiosity killed…, or Text messaging with my lover.

So, what are you up to tonight? I ask, nonchalant as ever.
I’m in a pub- with a girl from the internet.
Oh.
She’s on a flippin’ date, that’s what she’s doing tonight.
Crap.
Of course I have to play this one down. Nonchalance, nonchalance, where did I put it… .. can’t find it…. quick, say something..
Oh. I hope she’s fugly. And a crap conversationalist. I’ll leave you to it, then.

I lie down on my bed, half sulking, half smiling.
It’s hurting a bit, tugging at me, prickling my skin.

I’m savouring the slight heartache.

I decide to get up, have a beer, and write a blog entry about it.