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Sunday, July 24, 2011

The Nice Man, my medi facial, and Mr Kink.

Sunday 24th July 2011 ...

The photos on this blog makes it look like it's still summer in New Zealand. This picture was taken on Waiheke in March, but I can't find the charger for my camera and so I'm posting pics that give the impression of an eternal summer.

It's raining all the time. It rains sideways too, so that an umbrella is rendered useless. It wasn't like that in Korea; it was dry and cold, so cold that it felt like evil elves were slashing my thighs with tiny razor blades. New Zealand weather is sort of annoying at times, but I am incredibly grateful to have escaped the bitter winter and cruel humidity of a Korean summer. I also appreciate our trees, oh our sweet sweet evergreens!

So to update you on my internet shennanigans:

The Nice Man:

I met the Nice Man about two weeks ago, the same weekend as Mr Sensitive. I didn't talk about him because he did nothing strange and I decided I might like to see him again. I did. Friday night we had drinks in Titirangi and I kept looking at him and trying to find him sexy. I wanted to because he was, well, y'know, really nice. He was generous, kind, dressed in no way to cause offence (T could not forgive the French intellectual's pin-striped shirt and pink tie), and seemed to be quite relaxed in his skin. All good things to be sure.

When it came to say goodbye, we kissed and it was fine. Not bad, no biting, but no fire works either. Bummer, bummer, bummer, bummer bummerchameleon. Oh well, guess I knew it wasn't really going to happen, but I always think having a kiss can't hurt when testing the chemistry stakes. If in doubt, get tongue.

After we parted ways, I went to my cousin's for her going away party. I drank too much and had to have a nap for a few hours in her bed before I could drive home. She assisted me down the crazy driveway of doom, a real Titirangi driveway, one you sometimes have to crawl down backwards if feeling insecure.

On the Saturday morning I was off for a Medi Facial. This involved a woman rubbing stuff on and off my face and basically trying to sell me really expensive skin care. She tried to imbue me with a creeping sense of despair over my 'crow's feet' and 'sun damaged' skin. I admit, the medi facial did leave my skin feeling really soft and you would never have known I was hung over and only got home at 4am that morning. I just didn't like the fear sell. If she'd been more flattering in her sales technique then I might have been more sucked in and wanted to buy the over priced serums she was flogging. I think I'll stick with my cheaper pottles a little longer though, but hey, watch this space, if I do decide to spend crazy amounts on vitamin a and c serums, I'll tell you if they work.

I've yet to tell you about Mr Kink, he was my post Medi Facial coffee date. I also fell off the wagon and went and texted Simon (the one I called Wylie in my Korea blog), but I feel a little better today and have it in perspective again. I loved him and sometimes I just feel really strange and sad about it all. That's ok.

Mr Kink was interesting. Really good to talk to, very very attractive, interesting taste in music ... but he just seemed Super Gay to me. I just couldn't imagine him with a woman at all, unless it was for the sake of novelty. There is more to say on this subject, but right now, it's time for beddy byes.

I have work issues that must be attended to tomorrow. I ask the Universe to help out on this one, it seems like all sorts of unnecessary tension has been stirred up and I felt really upset about it today. Now I can see the fabled light at the end of the tunnel; I know it's up to me to manage my own energy. I can't control anyone else, if they want to get upset that's up to them.

All I can to is be kind, listen and respectfully stand up for myself. I love my job, I don't want anything to jepordize it. Angels, aliens, gods, higher self, please step in!!!

And they did.

Mondeeeeee:

Yes folks, the angels, aliens and higher self, the very soul of goodness was present and correct for the unfolding of the day. My work colleagues were kind and I soon realised much of my spinning fearful moo moo mind had just taken me back to old experiences, and my heart and body were following. Ah, the heart and body following a fearful mind can only lead to a nasty little party, and not one anyone wants to go to. A pooh party for one. Hee hee!

So yes, the pooh party for one subsided last night, and by this morning I was feeling all chipper clipper do, put on my red coat, threw on some lippy and thus armed, faced the sideways rain with a smile.

I was at work most of the day and when we nearly thought we'd sorted out all the administration bullshit, it turned out we'd misunderstood something else, oh figures and shmiggers, it was all a bit numbery and boring. Had to be done, but Feather Girl was end of the tether girl ... it turned out that all this information we'd been updating had not saved! Eeek!!!

I know this because after I finished work, I went for a swim (first one in a long time) at the pools. I sat in the spa for 45 minutes, then swam for five minutes (four lengths), soaked again, washed my hair, poodled in the mirror and then looked longingly at the Archies pizza menu on my way home. As I did so, who did I see in Archies, but young Feather! She didn't recognise me for a minute (context is everything) and wondered why this strange woman was staring at her.

Invited myself to join her, had a feed and a wine (mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!) and we had a really good yack about all sorts, including some dodgy experiences we've had in our lives.
What was truly amazing was that the Archies Lady was nice to us! I think Feather has to take credit for that, and I blame her smoking habit.
Feather asked the usually grumpy and unsmiling Archies Lady if they sold ciggarettes. The Archie's Lady smiled that no they didn't (OMG, a smile!) but went and got a pack from someone she knew and offered Feather one! She kept smiling at her! The woman must be a fellow smoker, delighted to see another PC free soul.

Feather happily accepted, we went outside while she puffed away, and I didn't even feel sick. The miracle of Feather's charm continued when we went back inside. Complimentary baileys. Fuck me duck me, it's enough to make one want to take up smoking. The smiles, the free treat, what the hell was going on?

I must conclude that Feather is in fact part angel and her powers have rendered the Archie's Lady helpless before her.

But I digress. I was, after all, going to tell you about Mr Kink. Yeah, we got on well, he was lovely, but I decided to be really honest (oh dear, thought he could take it ... wrong!!) at the conclusion of our two coffee date. I let him know I didn't think it was a romantic connection and he went all icy and non-smiling, very offended! Eek, it was awkward (and yes, say it like an American!) AWK-WARD!)
I was saying how much I liked his company and that I would like to keep in touch (and meant it sincerely) but he said something about his female friends being jealous, and he also said
"I'm a loner, I don't have a lot of friends."
Eek, fucky doo, I can see why. The nicer I was, the colder and shittier he got. He commented that I had moved further away from him physically throughout our interaction. I hadn't noticed, but I'm not one to move up close to someone immediately, even if I do fancy them.

He'd already told me he liked a bit of kink; this involved domination and submission, group sex (er, maybe not), and that he'd slept with men as well as women. The thing is, he just emanated gay energy in my opinion, and for this reason I couldn't imagine kissing him (unless it was to kiss a gay man, and that's only ever happened to me once when the man in question had just sniffed amyl nitrate and we were in a silly mood ... a long long time ago!). Oh, and if you count being kissed by a gay friend who wasn't yet out of the closet in 1988, which I don't.

So er, I said that I 'saw' him being with a man. He asked why, ooh jeeze, frosty the snowman had nothing on him in that moment. I said it was just a feeling ... "and I've known a lot of ..." and I stopped because Mr Kink was definitely turning Mr Stink, his eyes so incredibly glacial that I just stopped speaking. He informed me that although he enjoyed sleeping with men, it was only sexual, he wouldn't want to have a relationship with a man. He said he really loves the connection he has with a woman, that's what he wants. He said he was sick of people thinking he was gay. All I could think (and perhaps I am narrow minded, or maybe I've got a good gaydar) was De-Ni-Al!

Oh dear, the woman who ends up with you is going to have to let the kink lead the way, because a pussy only diet will definitely not satisfy.

I still felt I needed to connect with him, I didn't want to leave on a bad note, and his vibe was a real bummer after we'd been chatting so easily and having a perfectly gay time.

I tried again, "well the thing is, if we do remain in contact, and let's say I go to a party or something and invite you, then it could be really good ... because you never know, there might be three Dita Von Teese look a likes there!"
He had expressed a great admiration for Dita, but when I said this, he kept up the ice impression and replied "why would I want someone who looks like Dita Von Teese? What makes you think that?"
"Er, because you have a tattoo of her on your arm?"
"I like her, but it doesn't mean I want to find someone who looks like her, I admire her for the person she is ..." (blah blah blah). Yes, I did get his point, but he was being deliberately difficult now.
"Well ok, then someone who doesn't look like Dita Von Teese then, but still a really attractive and lovely person you might like and connect with. Imagine that there is this opportunity to connect, and so if we are in touch with each other, then we open up these chances for these kind of things to happen!"
He looked at me disdainfully.
"I think it's time for me to go" he said.

And whaddaya know? It really was.

The lesson? You can't make someone see outside their blinkers if that's what they really want to wear. Who knows what turns people on?



















Sunday, July 17, 2011

Dead Kitty and a Strange Party .... (sounds like a band)


Sunday

When I finally got home around 4am this morning, I was not only ready for bed, I was ready to cry in bed.

My rear tyre had been slashed, I'd suffered an accidental insult from a man with potential, and there was a dead cat swaddled in a pajama top and resting in a cardboard box in the garage waiting to be claimed or buried.

It started on Friday night. I'd had a lovely dinner with Sarah at Mekong Nua in Kingsland. The whole deep fried lemon infused snapper was divine darlings, and the usually sullen register attendant had even been charmed by me.

I'd worked that day out at the Factory doing the literacy tutoring classes, but I'd dressed to go from work to play and felt sexy-cute in my black dress and red wool coat.

As I slowed down to pull in my driveway at around 10pm, I saw what I first took to be a possum on the road. Other drivers sped over the little body (literally, not squashing him) and as I pulled carefully into the driveway I realised it was a cat.

It was starting to rain. Again. I felt a bit panicky. I got out of the car and ran onto the road, bending down to the stripey tabby. He was moving. Oh my god. He was fucking moving.

I scooped him up carefully in my arms, wondering if he might be horribly damaged underneath, but there was no sign of damage externally. I didn't know what to do. I ran down my driveway, saw that T wasn't home, ran back up the driveway and stood on the footpath wanting to scream 'help!'. Some people stopped. An American couple felt for his pulse, confirmed that he was dying, asked if I'd be okay, and went home to their 3 month old baby.

I stood there, holding the still convulsing, possum-like cat. He was lovely and large, a handsome boy. He was so warm. I walked back down my driveway and held him until he was still, asking the spirit of love and endless light to ease his passage into the next world. His eyes were wide open the whole time.

When he stopped moving, I tenderly placed him on top of my old washing hamper at the back door. I went inside and Tosca was meowing and demanding attention. She smelled death and ran back into the house.

I found an old pajama top, blue checked, and put it at the bottom of a cardboard box. I went back to 'Possum' and bright blood was bubbling from his little nose and leaking steadily from his mouth. I got a tissue, wiped it up as best I could, then got a tea towel and used that to put under his face as I lifted him into the box. I found it hard to imagine how someone could have had hit him and kept driving.

I arranged the tea towel so that it soaked up the blood as it poured from him. He must have been badly damaged internally, he wouldn't even have had time to be in pain. I stroked his black and greyish-brown fur. He was still so warm. I thought of my Nanna dying, and how I felt her passing spirit that night.

I did a prayer for him and put him in the garage. Tosca ran outside and looked down the driveway, towards the road. Martin the ginger tom stood further down the driveway like a sentinal. Street light bounced off wet surfaces.

I went to bed and bliss passed through me in waves. I closed my eyes and saw lights, and I knew that Possum was re-joined to the endless bliss of non-physical form. Tears leaked down my face, pretty feeling tears, the sort a blonde heroine might shed on a made for TV movie when she finds out she has a terminal disease.

I smiled into the dark and rainy night, Tosca safely tucked under my arm, the pretty tears finally ceasing.

The next morning I knocked on about six doors looking for the owner to no avail. I put up notes in the local dairy and bakery. I checked on Possum. He was cold now.

On Saturday T and I went to a party a friend of hers invited us to. It was in the middle of no-where, a beautiful country no-where in the dark cold night, but I was wearing my new red dress and felt sexy and warm. I was ovulating.

We were greeted by the lovely birthday lady, she was turning 50 and had decorated herself with lights and all manner of celebratory costume. The theme was Aroha, but people seem to have dressed in the widest interpretation of love possible ... among them were a 'Foot rot Flats' type who whipped up his swandri repeatedly at the end of the night to show off his skimpy shorts and well muscled thighs and someone who looked like a ship's captain but was supposed to be 'Sid Snot', a Kenny Everitt incarnation.

There were a lot of people, but the music wasn't too loud and everyone was talking, a wide range of ages and flavours. The friend of T's who invited us looked rather tasty, and I wondered if he was attracted to me. He's older than me, but only 11 years, and is a really nice guy.

We got out there quite late as it took longer to paint our nails and get ready than we expected, and once there, we drank our wine too fast. By around 1am T's friend invited us to have a drink because he lived in a granny type flat on the same property. Off we traipsed to admire his place, his view, and then all talk about anything that came to mind, including internet dating!

Word got back that someone had slashed the tyres of guests parked out on the road. I felt really uncomfortable and wanted to check my car immediately, but T and her friend (we'll call him Mr Sensitive) said my car would be fine. I couldn't relax properly. I stopped drinking because I knew I'd be driving home, and I guess my pre-menstrual agression was kicking in. I wanted to be in my own bed with the electric blanket on.

T had a young guy entertain and come onto her which she'd been enjoying, and when we left he looked a little crest-fallen. Mr Sensitive walked us to the car and it looked like my tyre was ok at first. T hopped into the car, and Mr S and I said goodbye and ended up sharing a nice kiss. Mmm, promising.

I started driving and realised that the tyre was right royally fucked. Police were there, lots of people milling around or changing their slashed tyres, and we went back to the party to get help.

T's young admirer was delighted, and I trailed after Mr Sensitive as he searched for his jack to change the car tyre. He reached out for me and kissed me again. It was nice, but again, a biter. What's going on with all this biting? Is it something older men do? I had to tell him it hurt and that I do bruise quite easily (the blood blister caused by the Mad Englishman took a week to go away!). He ceased biting and the kiss became more enjoyable.

We went into the garage and he looked for the jack in his car boot. Something about T came up, how great she is, and then Mr Sensitive said
"Yeah, she's really cool, if I was 20 years younger, I'd be chasing her alright!"
Oh wow.
"That's really appropriate" I replied, ice forming quickly, my horniness subsiding like a neap tide. He didn't notice.

We, minus the young admirer, went back to the car for the tyre changing process. It was good of him and I did appreciate it, but I could hardly wait to be home.


T went back to the party (to get another kiss I think). Mr Sensitive said I was a very sexy lady. Oh yawn, you basically just told me you'd fuck my friend if you thought you stood a chance in hell.

I told Mr Sensitive that his comment was really off. He didn't understand why. I tried to explain it. Imagine if you had a son (even though it's not a good comparison, I am only five years older than T!) and I said to you that I would go for him if I were younger?

In other words, what am I, chopped liver? You'll make do? He tried to explain or justify himself, but for me, it was over before it could ever begin. Fantasize about my friends by all means, but please do not tell me about it unless you want ice to form over my pussy.

Fuck it, my ex boyfriend is 24, steaming hot and a great kisser. If I want the best sex of my life, I can get it any time I want. (Ok, I didn't say those last things, that would have been rude, but I was thinking it.) I'm not saying that's what I'm doing. I'm just saying.

When the tyre was fixed and I got T back from the thin grasp of the boy attempting to lure her into garden or garage, we were on our way home. It was morning. I was ragingly pre-menstrual, and I knew I still had a dead kitty to deal with.

Monday:

Kitty is now packaged up ready for burial. I'm procrastinating. I don't want to put dirt on him really. It's cold and sunny today, I said I'd go into the office and now I don't remember why.
Got my Moon time though.
Spent most of yesterday with Andrew - we had brunch in Ponsonby, watched some new episodes of True Blood and had a glass of wine.

Life is wonderful.


Picture: Taken from Claire's place when I stayed with her and Donna in Titirangi.




































Sunday, July 10, 2011

More from the Internet Dating front lines: the Englishman.

I put on my sexy form fitting black wool dress and little leopard jacket on Friday night, pouted in the mirror and headed out the door.

We were going to go to SPQR for dinner, but it was too crowded, so we walked down Ponsonby Rd in the cold wind until we reached GPK (all these letters!).

I already knew I wasn't initially attracted to The Englishman, but because love or lust can sometimes be sparked by a good conversation or a mutual love of Tru Blood, I kept my mind open. He was wearing some sort of puffy jacket, as if he might nip into the bush for a walk, and his face contorted with the intensity of whatever story he was telling.

He was a genuinely interesting guy, and generous, taking me out for a lovely dinner (feed me Seymour, feed me!). It was the shouty agressive stories he told that made me question our compatibility. He'd been a marine and now worked in marketing, and over our first drink he told me about his ex wives, his children and moving to New Zealand. He was really wired. He told me about the time his father hit his mother and how he'd wrung his dad by the neck and threatened to kill him if he laid a finger on his mother again. He reached out and almost grabbed my neck as he described it, his eyes wild with anger at the past memory, his voice raised, the 'fucks' coming thick and fast.

I became uncharacteristically quiet, but I liked his open-ness and appreciated what it must be like for other people when I'm telling a really intense story and bring too much of that energy into the currrent moment. It's kind of scary.

We sat down and looked at the menu. Mmm. I ordered pork belly and a second glass of The Ned pinot gris which was delicious! He had steak, and when it came he was really pissed off that some sort of sauce that came with it was cold.

"It's freezing cold!" he moaned.
"Ask them to heat it up" I suggested warmly.
He gestured to the waiter in an irritated fashion.
"This sauce is FREEZING COLD" he barked at him.
"Oh, I can heat that up for you," said the waiter, and a slight look of complicity passed between us, the look that says "yes, this guy is being a bit rude, but what can you do?". I smiled in apology.

I gently touched The Englishman's arm after the waiter walked away with the 'freezing sauce'.
"Be nice to the waiters" I laughed.
"I AM being nice," he said, "but if you pay for something it should be what you expect".
"Yes of course," I said, "but the waiter can't help it, he didn't make it. Haven't you ever been a waiter?"
"No," he sneered with a smile, "I've never sunk that low!"
"Oh," I smiled back patiently, "I have, and even lower than that."
"Ah, I was just joking!" he said.

What a funny guy.

He regaled me with a violent account of fighting someone and throwing each other into barbed wire, he leaned forward into my face to tell me how he held the guy up, covered in blood and said "and so how do YOU like the razor wire?". Ripped to shreds he was. Yeah, that'll teach im.

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, I didn't really mind much of this. I didn't feel deeply offended. I kept watching for the moments of gentleness he would display, but when he referred to his daughter as currently behaving 'like a bitch', I thought this might not be the match I was seeking.

The more hyper and intense he became, the calmer and kinder I felt. I listened and sometimes got a few words in, which, if you know how much I usually talk, is kind of amazing. I felt relaxed, even though it was occasionally jarring to have him yelling and swearing right into my face.

I still kissed him goodnight. He nipped my lower lip. I wondered if he'd been nervous and being all laddish as a way to disguise anxiety. It wasn't a bad kiss. He was technically fine. He texted me after the date thanking me for joining him, saying I was a very sexy lady.

I assumed he'd want to see me again and spent the next day wondering how I'd turn him down. It was the Waiter Issue that got to me most. I just don't want to spend time with people who think they're better or worse than anyone. In the meantime I met (not through internet dating) other guys who I found more interesting, kind and attractive, a reminder that one does not have to hang out with a Mad Englishman.

Fortunately he'd come to the conclusion that we weren't compatible (I've been a waitress after all, oh horrors!). It was a great relief.

A life of rolling in barbed wire and having my bottom lip bitten and bruised no longer awaits me.

Yeah, a horrid blood blister came up on the inside of my lip! What is that? Was that from him nipping my bottom lip? Gross and Ewwwww as my American friends would say. It made me feel a bit sick when I looked at it. Nippy Mad Englishman. It must be time to date a fellow New Zealander!

On another note entirely, I bought a MASSIVE phallic cactus from the Avondale markets yesterday! Tenika (yes, I'm spelling her name wrong to protect the innocent) suggested that it would ensure I get a lover with the right, er, proportions. I liked that idea.

About to go into work shortly, catching up with the young woman (we'll call her Feather as she likes feathers) who has a lot of experience in tutoring and literacy work. Having Archie's Pizza for lunch first, mmm, it's really the best pizza in New Market, if not all of Auckland.

And so another week begins, a precious Monday, cold and bright. The world is my mirror, my creation, and no matter what I see, it's all very interesting and fun!





















Sunday, July 3, 2011

Anger in Avondale!


Anger is a funny old spider isn't it?

Today I bumped into Andrew's ex Leaseholder in the Op Shop and we did that thing where you're painfully nice and polite to each other. I could barely stand to look at her corpse-like grin, her heavily penciled eyebrows, the wound up repression emanating from her pores.

I suppose I could have confronted her, but instead I chatted with her nicely, as if she'd never written a nasty letter to Andrew in which she refrerred to me with disgust and rage because (in her words) we'd had 'sexy times' in the shower. Oh for fuck's sake. We never had 'sexy times' in the shower. If we had SEXY TIMES in the shower, we would've been longer than 5 minutes (and I always knew she was probably timing us). You would have KNOWN about it for sure.

She definitely has an anger problem, and even though she might have made a couple of relevant points in her letter to Andrew, it was all undermined by her paranoid, festering rage.

I stayed there for one week when I was homeless and noticed what a control freak she was. Her boyfriend seemed really nice, I don't know why she didn't just have some 'sexy times' with him instead of worrying what someone else is or isn't doing in the shower. She used the word DISGUSTING in capitals a lot in her letter. She probably rinses her vagina with dettol after her boyfriend comes.

So I got angry after I saw her. I started muttering things under my breath as I walked through Avondale, the huge 'Avondale Spider' feature looming high above. I started to imagine what I could have said. Then, since I'm on a roll, I think of someone else I still feel some anger towards and feed more poison into that particular wound. My favourite old wound is an ex friend, a cold Snow Queen sort. I really need to get right over that. I'm lucky she's no longer my friend, she was often jealous, super uptight, snobby and mentally cruel. I guess I always put up with it because she was also funny and strange, and I liked that. As her snobbishness increased, her humour dropped away, the maggots of self consciousness nibbling at her heart.

I saw her drive past looking like New Market's ash blonde answer to Cruella De Ville the other day. Weird, because I'd dreamt of her a few weeks before and in the dream I wondered if I should try to connect with her again.

Her face appeared as in a fairy tale before me looking walled in and cold, and I knew there was no going back. Some people aren't meant to be in your life forever, and that's ok. As people keep saying to me 'a reason, a season, a lifetime', and the Snow Queen was for a season. A fifteen year season, but just a season nonetheless.

It's been seven years since she was my friend. Seven years seems a long time to still be angry. I think it's grand though, it's shown me how far I've come, that I could have been so close to someone who didn't actually respect me, someone who was always looking down on me. That's only possible when you don't respect yourself, when somewhere inside you feel inferior. It shows up in different ways for different people.

Now that I do respect myself and I know I'm neither superior or inferior, I just don't seem to be attracting the kind of friends who'll throw you away when you no longer match the rest of their lives. I know it should have been enough the time we met for wine and I asked her
"shall we catch up more when I make more money?" and her brow knitted in consideration as she responded
"yeahhh that's a really good idea."

I now look around and I don't have a million friends, but the ones I do have are fucking great! Loyal, kind, honest, sweet, supportive, funny, generous ... and best of all ... unconditional in their love, and now that I'll be making more money, not a snobby bitch in sight. I'll drink to that.

xxx













Mojo Rising! What was with last week?

Monday

Well dang me, I don't know why last week was such a Mojo Crusher, perhaps the planets were in some strange alignment (I should ask Grizelda, the Witchy Goddess of Titirangi).

On Saturday I was supposed to go for coffee and walk with the Sexy Older Man, but he rang and due to unforseen acting duties (oh the rehearsals are going for three hours) I was left singing "don't leaaavee mee highh, don't leave me dryyyyyyy".

It was a bit bloody annoying, I could have made other plans! It sort of threw me, pooh me. Andrew (The Sexy Young Ex) and I were already planning on going to the movies that night, he rang early, and fortunately I got the friendship and connection I needed. Yep, got me a healing.

How to Negotiate Friendship with the Ex

I have no definitive answer, but Andrew and I have decided that a catch up every two weeks is ok, and nowhere near a bed. Yes, that's my main tip, step away from the bed!

We went to a restaurant on Scenic Drive called The Refreshment Room. I had a bean soup which sounds disgusting, but was actually really delicious and also reasonably priced at $12. The coffee was fuck my spine strong, and as we left we admired a couple's whiskery dog (her name was Lulu).
Just down the road from there is the Pipeline walk at the start of Woodlands Rd. We walked 25 minutes in, then turned back as darkness fell. The trees and fine foliage sent us healing energy.

Went to St Lukes (aka St Lucifer's) and tried to find a decent movie to watch (nope), so we watched a DVD instead. It was the one where the attractive couple end up caring for their friend's baby. Loved it, and Andrew was near tears! The female actress (is it Katherine Heigl?) looked like Heather Huxford Smarty Pants, my American friend in Korea.

Last night I went with Claire to this Meditation Evening at the Titirangi Beach Hall, led by Caitlin Casey. We stretched, we chanted, we allowed purple light to enter our third eye and down the inner wall of our spines. Ooooh errrrrr!

I slept ridiculously well last night. I dreamt I had this nice boyfriend, but he reminded me a lot of this guy I went out with when I was 24 who we will call the Toy Man (he collected action figures).

Toy Man was just lovely but lied about really strange things (told me he had ball cancer when he didn't, and also told the woman he went out with after me that I was a nymphomaniac! Weird!).

The last I ever heard about Toy Man was that he'd told the owner of a comic shop he was recovering from a heart attack. I guess he needs to be 'sick' to get attention. Eventually he really will be sick and I'm sure it will be like a dream come true.

Guilt

Guilt is a big fucking waste of time. Guilt keeps us from love, honesty and joy. Obviously it doesn't mean killing your mum and dancing on her grave, but it does mean doing things because you really do want to do them, that your actions are based on truth.


Gratitude

So gentle reader, I fly free, flushing the guilt down the loo along with the pooh.
Last night I sat on Tenika's bed and we talked about ten things we were each grateful for, and then I suggested that during the night our souls would gather up starlight and let it illuminate our chakras (energy centres in the body).
This was a truly yummy thought, and we imagined this light burning or eating away at any pain in our bodies, any blocks to our joy.

Now I share it with you. You are filled with starlight. You can feel it fill your joints, your blood, your heart, your feet, your fingers ... you are this amazing endless expression of love and joy.

You're a star. :)


Friday, July 1, 2011

Back to Basics Babies! Positive Vibes (and I don't mean vibrators)


Yes well, I've had a lovely indulgent time feeling rejected by The French Intellectual, but this morning, as I put on my new cream woolly beret style hat , and snuggled into bed with coffee, I felt something in my heart shift. It's ok. It's only rejection!

It also helped to talk with Tenika (my flatmate) about it. When she found out that he was wearing a pinstripe shirt and a pink tie that evening (he'd come from work) she cried out
"NO! There's no excuse! And did you say he drank herbal tea?"

Yes dear friend, he did drink herbal tea. He wanted chamomile, but alas, Roasted Addiquition did not seem to have any and he made do with a fruity blend (is it caffeine free?). In his final email he said he was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed? I drank a mochachino, he had herbal tea, we talked for an hour and a half, and then he caught the train back to New Market. I didn't even take off my modest cream coat to reveal the short, form fitting dress with sequined trim. I had mercy!

"He's a wimp," pronounced Tenika, "a limp dick". I smiled. Yes, maybe she's right. What if in fact he had hoped I was a dominatrix type, and when he met me he was disappointed in my warmth and friendliness. Perhaps he'd hoped I would eye him disdainfully and pronounce him a worm not worth my time.

The thing is, I had really started to enjoy connecting with him on a regular basis and was going to miss his wit and imagination! I texted him yesterday:
"Shall we be friends? It concerns me that you may go through life without listening to Jeff Buckley!"

No reply. But the good thing is this: he has revived my enjoyment of writing! I feel a little more playful about it, and I also trust my subconscious is working well, ensuring I don't waste time falling deeply in love with a fucking twit. He had gifts for me - the gift of imagination, great writing and humour, but without balls ... well ...

Back to basics!

Every experience dating needs to be entered into in the spirit of play - and I just got too keen too quickly, falling for the idea of someone. In all reality, he knows why we're not a good match. Perhaps he thinks of his mum when he masturbates, or cries himself to sleep every night, and I've just been saved from a whole lot of super sized pain.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Internet Dating I shall fear no Boredom, let alone Evil!

Today I am possibly meeting up with Sexy Older Man. Fortunately my shaking self esteem has left me feeling completely relaxed and open to meeting someone and not projecting all sorts of fantasies onto them.

SOM is 50 and looks like he could run up a mountain about ten times faster than me. He has those crinkling blue eyes that promise experience and humour. We shall see!

But yes, that's the whole point ... keep the positivity flowing and expect only to back yourself. From there, anything and everything can happen.