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.

In a nutshell

Yesterday I melted all day in a non-air-conditioned work environment, then came home bathing in the armpit sweat of a thousand fellow bus passengers. In the park, my neighbours’ kids were playing Frisbee with the au pair, yelling ‘you pathetic idiot’ when she missed and ‘good girl’ when she didn’t. I refrained from playfully kicking their arse and renewed my vows of staying away from children. I came home to find Mother dressed in my clothes again; she talked vehemently at me for an hour or two while I was silently but stubbornly slipping into unconsciousness. And now it’s this morning; I wonder what Mother has in store for me today. Never mind, I’m planning my escape for tomorrow. All day.

It’s almost like that MIWLTF thing, and it’s disturbing.

I’ll take your mother out, so you can have some free time, Jacqui says. I quite like older women, she says, and winks.
Oh, I can just hear that conversation.
Mother, a friend of mine would like to take you out tonight.
I said, a friend of mine would like to take you out. Yes, tonight.
How old? Oh, 30.
So?
His name? Oh.
Jacqui.
Yes, it’s a she.
What do you mean, why does she want to take you out? Because she likes moms.. I mean, because she obviously heard a lot about you.
No you can’t wear that.
Etc.
Oh, it’s so, so wrong.
In the meantime, mother has buggered off to the Chelsea Flower show. If you happen to be there and see a red-haired Frenchwoman in a designer dress and my old converse, do say hi. .

One day down, nine more to go

1. Naturally I come home after work to find my home upside down.
Mother is wearing the old ‘I have issues' T-shirt that Charlie bought me over two years ago, as well as my most treasured pair of jeans to do the gardening. The garden and kitchen have been given a makeover, the fridge’s been filled, so the (freshly, vehemently brushed) cat can’t quite make up his mind between sulking in a corner (no more long grass) or rejoicing (the fridge’s full.)

2. The plants have been re-potted, the books placed in alphabetical order on the shelves, she’s engaged in a lively discussion with the Italian lady next door on the merits of natural fertilizers. Of course they don’t understand each other too well; my neighbour’s English sounds straight out of Naples, and my mother’s is, well, straight out of a phrase book.

3. Blogpeople, I need to plan my escape. I have friends and lover to see. How best to broach the subject? Mother, it’s not that you’re boring, but I need to go have a life. Mother, enough is enough, and anyway I have a hot date on Saturday/Sunday. No you can’t come along to see if she’s suitable, and anyway she’s harder to understand that the Italian neighbour. Yes it’s a she, and I’m not going back. Now can you keep yourself busy for an evening?

4. Still awaiting survival packages of vitamins and booze.

Communication and my mother

1. People of blogland, my flat feels like it has shrunk overnight. My life is about to be suspended for ten (10) days. My mother is visiting, you see.

2. Huh? What did he say? she asks of the train conductor's announcement.
She makes me repeat every word, just to make sure.
How do you spell 'Clapham'?
Now can you do that with a Scottish accent?
I do my best; she's in hysterics.

3. What's that noise? she says as my mobile gives its discreet beep.
I have a text message, I answer sheepishly.
Oh, who from?
I have friends, you know, I offer tentatively, and knowing perfectly well the text is some wonderful filth from my lover.
Not again! she exclaims later and with each beeping noise. What does it say?

I switch the phone onto silent mode and put it in the back pocket of my jeans. I''ll check it in the loo later.

4. Guess what I brought you?
I don't know. Chocolate? Presents? Real cheese?
The entire Project for the European Constitution document.
Yay.
175 pages. It's quite heavy. I would have posted it but then I would have had to pay for a stamp.
Oh, thank you so much. I was so looking forward to reading that.

5. Oh I see, you haven't tidied up although your mother was coming over..
She does the fingertip-on-furniture thing, looks in the fridge and frowns, gets the hoover out. I collapse. It's been a long day, yet it's only starting.

6. So, get me the A to Z; shall we make plans for the next ten days then? Are you sure you don't fancy the Chelsea flower show with me ? When can we go to Fortnum & Mason's?
I sigh and try procrastination.

7. Now, can I have your laptop; I have some communicating to do, you know',, she said.

She settles down to some frantic email typing, peppered with swearing about this weird English keyboard.
Oh.
Maybe she's got a lover.
Ah!
Maybe it'll work out.
Yay!
So that next time she comes over, well, she could bring him along, and they could stay in a B&B, and get really really busy together, and I wouldn't have to put my life on hold for ten (10) days?!

I leave her to her typing and cross my fingers.

8. Send vitamins. Or alcohol. Or both.

Oh yes

So, apart from Jeffrey Dahmer, I share a birthday with my err my lover, and that’s today, people of blogland. I’m not sure how I feel about this shared birthday thing. The Jeffrey Dahmer connection is an interesting chatup line, the lover thing is..I don’t know yet. I’m not the only special person in the room, she’s entitled to wear the same badge and I have to share the cake more equitably that I otherwise would have done. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go back for some double birthday sex birthday party thing . And no it’s not the kind of party where you can join if you turn up with a bottle. Hope you’re all having a good day, I know I am.

Spring breeze, but no U-hauls

1. People of blogland, I know I have been slacking recently. Blame my overbooked agenda as well as the mother of all colds, which have both kept me confined to bed, for altogether very different reasons. But you do know I love you all, don’t you? Right. That’s that out of the way then, just like that time my mother went out clubbing when I was in bed with measles.

2. I believe I left it at the ‘why do women have to be so damn caring’ episode, when I was waiting for an impending visit from my.. my... which leads us smoothly to the subject of..

3. …labels. We had The Conversation, or rather, in our respective breezy, jocular ways, we alluded to having a conversation about The Conversation; the one where two people whose respective trajectories merge/collide long enough to share a bed more than once sit down and discuss the State of Things, present and future. Sometimes.

4. We agreed on the term ‘lovers’ -so much, yet so little- and went our separate ways with a similar, satisfied grin.

5. At this point I’d like to add that, in spite of the mother of all colds, Spring is definitely in my pants. This is possibly why this blog has been suffering a distinct lack of updates recently. Sex is difficult to write about. Good sex is even harder. Overwhelming, all-engulfing sex is nigh impossible. If it turns bad you’ll know all about it.

6. This distinct ‘one day at a time’ stance is suiting me fine. No U-Hauls, no shared felines, no marriage proposals, no monologues starting with ‘your furniture doesn’t match mine’ and ending with ‘storage’. Although, now that she has turned up with strawberries and lurgy-sized tissue boxes, it might well turn into a ‘one week at a time’ thing. Breezy.

7. I wonder what she’s up to today. Maybe last night she had a date with a psycho, maybe she’s been kidnapped, tied up, thrown into the back of a car with no license plate and driven to an abandoned warehouse, and.. and.. oh I’m projecting again. I’ll just send her a text to say: beep me if you need rescuing.

I have a temperature, too

Yesterday she said, the best thing to do with this kind of ‘flu is to sweat it out, so we did. And today I got bored with staying in bed and staring at the flocked wallpaper. That’s all, people of blogland. I’m wiped out, floored, totalled. And I promised work I’d be back tomorrow. What a fool.