July 4, 2008 - Tandoori Chicken Woodfired Pizza and the Lover's Roar.
Cold pizza for post-coital lunch.
This week's chicken was consumed on a tandoori chicken pizza, last night at the woodfired pizza place. Yes yes, I know, I know. Tandoori chicken and mint yoghurt and mango chutney on a pappadum on a pizza? Sacreligious. An insult to every region of Italy and every region of India; two nations whose culture and traditional cuisine have every foodie's utmost respect.
But... it tastes good.
If I'm gonna eat chicken, I'm gonna eat chicken wrong.
{{{T.M.I. WARNING}}}
Having got that out of the way, my lover is like, a total babe and stuff.
Oh you knew it was coming. It's Friday. I always do this on Fridays.
I loved him all up into a tight ball of manly ruggedness today... I hurled my heart at him over and over again, because I will miss him so sorely, and it will set in sooner, because I know the wait is ahead. I hardly closed my eyes once... taking in his beautiful body to recall later on.... his skin so fragrant, his face so full of pleasure. He works so hard. I love seeing him just... release.
I get so shy and it stops me from looking back into his eyes often enough.... the way a real woman should, and the way he deserves to be squarely gazed at. I will be brave enough someday, when I feel that I am woman enough.
Methodical, tender, intense and just... calm. He is truly himself when he's in that zone; he knows his little lover adores him so tirelessly and unconditionally. Hopefully now he has enough meow from his Rubeness in his soul for his roar to resound through the streets of the city for a whole fortnight. He shall shake his mane and the waves on Sydney harbour will shudder and spit froth high into the air. Oh, beautiful, beautiful man, you are so appreciated.
I love imagery.
So much.
It's so over-the-toply too much. But>>>>
Sometimes it's the only way I can get it ooooouuuuut.
I'm cold but I know it's not cold.
I'm going to the shops to buy something small as a housewarming gift.
To myself.
Oh go easy! I can't swim, because I've already straightened my hair!
No, I'm not going to be discussing Anon and Agent in relation to each other. That is an entirely different post. Heh, heh. Very interesting combination of personalities there. Agent is seethingly jealous of Anon. He doesn't know how obvious it is. Doesn't help that I always bark at him if he ever even thinks about saying a word against his name. Makes him even more jealous. Wishes I would be as defensive of him as I am of Anon. Hah! Good luck with that mate.
We probably will have Anon coming flying across the suburbs like our superhero (and perhaps wearing his underpants on the outside of his jeans) to kiss us, or share a plunger coffee, or maybe even make music with us (in the literal or metaphorical sense) at some stage over the two weeks, but maybe we won't. We'll just pretend that we won't get lover time and then if we do it'll just be a bonus. But miss him sorely we will and guarantee be it so. Tomorrow comes-he to us-see, and sadnesses be it a little, because makin' whoopee at the Shoebox ever again we be not doing tomorrow after.
Shoebox it has been our love nest. Place of safety and peace and haha funny and intensity of time of quality and lovemaking of whoosh-bang-smash-splat-shwah-grrrrawwwrrr eeeee~!!!! Aaaaaggghhhh!!! Uhhhhhhhh........... ohhhhhhhhhh........
Also on the cusp of a two-week hiatus be us.
Okay I'll stop talking like that now.
Maybe not seeing each other for more than a coffee for two weeks will be a good thing. Let's see if I'm still saying that in ten days' time when my ovaries are clanging together at around 4:12am and keeping me awake, calling out for him to arrive at my house, remove his clothes and fall into my bed with a heavy sigh and do that sweepy-kissy shoulder thing with my hair and his strong hands being so soft... sliding from my hip into the dip of my waist and up and over..... mmm okay I'm really mrrrrrrow tonight....... yeah alright let's leave that right there.
But yes. Hollidays. We're both parents and both being conscious of how work-obsessed we are, we also both feel at times that we don't focus enough on our children. He has a pigeon pair, as my mother says. A boy and a girl. I have of course just the Kid. Being a single parent forces me to be homebound most of the time because logistically, a single mother can't be a workaholic. It just can't happen. Your child needs you to be home. If you were wealthy you could have a nanny at home all the time. But then... who wants to parent like that? Nobody in their right mind. What's the use? You may as well send her to boarding school and be one of those robot parents who don't seem to have any chemicals. Most of the time the chemicals have been replaced with coke and botox.
I am struggling with feeling like the music industry kinda doesn't wanna know about me because I'm too hard. If I'm not as available as the next girl, I just won't get the work and she will. That's the reality. I have to face up to that one of these days. I can't keep doing these midweek things. I almost don't make it every single bloody time. So.... that's why sometimes I feel like I'm fighting an uphill battle against the "industry". So isolated sometimes. You show up, you play the show, and nobody knows that you went through hell just to get to the point where you trod the boards. They think you live in a cool apartment at Bondi and flew your helicopter there and had Maton and McDonald's sponsoring you for your whole career. They also think you've been playing guitar forever but in the same breath will take a guess at your age and say "19-20?"
But that's just my agent making me feel like that - for turning down work when I know I just can't be home on time to pick her up from school. Or saying no straight away when he asks me to do a set at 9:30pm on a Thursday night. Fucking idiot. Or asking him for money he owes me because I need to get her new school uniforms or take her out in the holidays. Or he makes me feel bad for turning down work to just be home with her doing painting and play-doh. Makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. I get so frustrated that I want to do one of those gasping crying sessions but I can't; I just smoke three cigarettes instead.
I know I'm doing the right thing by staying home with her when I know she needs me. But he makes me feel like I'm letting him down. Actually puts EFFORT into making me feel crap for having the right priorities. The other night I had her in the car waiting in the dark for me while I ran into a pub with a microphone and mic stand. I realised that there was something very wrong with this picture at the moment when I was running at full speed away from the car with my precious, patient little treasure in it, and frantically trying to find the recipient of the gear and then frantically running outside again in my heels and back to the car.
Gah. The fucking cunt. Makes me do such questionable things and I'm over it. This is not me.
....I'm going to stop talking about him now.
I think I should be happy not to have any more children of my own. Tonight I took her out for pizza as a last-dinner-in-Shoebox-Town thing... and er.... also because most of the food is at the other house.... and er... anyway...... she was eating her woodfired margherita and remarking on the quality of the crust like some old Italian man or something.... heh... so I showed her the woodfired oven and pointed to the pizzas cooking in its fiery belly. After I carried her lovingly back to her chair, kissing her soft forehead and plonked her down to polish off the last of her pizza, I was thinking how lucky I am to have such a happy, healthy, intelligent, inquisitive child.
The other children at her school have been coming running up to me lately saying how wonderful a singer the Kid is. Same story coming from the teachers. I don't know what she's been doing at singing time. Maybe she's using her cute vibrato. It's so cute.
I'm just rambling, really. Trying to get sleepy. Being tired and being sleepy are two completely different things this week.
I feel that I will sleep tonight. I hope I will sleep tonight. I think I will. I'm happy that Anon is coming tomorrow. Heh.... but I'm always this happy to know I'm going to be seeing him. Doy. I don't even know why I said that. "I'm happy that Anon is coming tomorrow." Like I've ever been indifferent to whether he's in the same room or not. Even in the old days.
I told him the other day about a time a couple of years ago that we were both at a gig and I was standing in the dark backstage in the ambiguous space of the big black felt curtains, listening to the person talking on the stage. He quietly came and stood next to me and said nothing, and I didn't expect him to say anything, or felt any pressure to say anything myself. But my little heart did whatever it wanted! It pounded like the wings of a hummingbird, it did indeed. Mhm. Hee. Little girl crush has lasted a really long time already. It's still a little girl crush. I get so shy and flirtatious. :) So charming. Such a gentleman.
And I'm thinking that after he's left tomorrow I'll make a beeline for the indoor swimming centre as a pre-emptive strike on the Melon Collie.
I feel that I must curl up now, actually. Hmmm. 12:03am. Wish me luck.
(presupposition: Anon looks ridiculously sexy when he is all wet in the shower and his hair is all flicky and there's water droplets on his skin...)
First laugh of today was when we were chatting like nerds online and I asked him if his hair was wet from the shower. He said, "Yes. And I look rugged, and manly...."
Nice to start the day giggling. He's like Weet Bix.
But.... has a hell of a lot more flavour... *happy shiver*
Soft tender sexy Anon kisses.... *crave*
OH GOD SHUT UPPPPPP!!!
Today I took another load of crap to the new place and Ash (the black cat) was totally all over me. I soon realised that this was because he'd left me a damp patch of carpet under the shelf in my bedroom. I told his mistress that he'd weed on my carpet, and she apologised and said he's marking his territory. Makes sense that he was curling himself around my legs and mewing tenderly within 30 seconds of emerging from my bedroom.
He now apparently owns me. I am just another concubine.
No, I get it, I get it.
Puh.
Had a chat to a fellow artist on the phone today that I'd never met and I could tell straight away that he's a cool businessman. I could learn a lot from this guy. He's about the same age I think. A bit up himself, but aren't they all? Interesting conversation, though. The ladies at the next table in the cafe I was in started wagging their ears as soon as I said "gigs". They actually turned around. I wanted to flick sugar sachets at them and tell them to mind their own business and continue talking about whether it's a sin to talk with your mouth full or not. No, I am goddamn deadset serious. That was what EYE was eavesdropping on before TW rang. So I was glad that someone rang who was going to talk about something far more interesting. He listened to the way I talked for the first ten minutes and then told me he's an ad-man and would I like some voice-over work? Yes, please. Giggity giggity arraight! But he went on to say I'd be perfect for a feminine hygiene ad. Er... okk-k-kk--kaaaaay. No I can deal with that. Hell... I'd do a voiceover for McDonald's if it got me a new bass rig...
It is hard sometimes to know which way to go, when a memory is stirred which has been lying dormant under the silt of your mind like a tree branch in the soft fine mud at the bottom of a river.
I guess sometimes you just have to concede and look back, and give those things the attention and strange inverted mourning that they demand. I don't mean "mourning" in the usual sense. But I think that sometimes people subconsciously hang onto these things into teenhood and it becomes a bizarre fixation; you think it's all you have, because it takes up so much space, so you give it energy as long as its mission to confuse you is having any success. Even though it's evil, you think it's the only friend you have. It takes several years for you to let go of it and realise that you actually do have the same crack at a normal life that everyone else does if you reach out and snatch it unapologetically.
By the time you're around the 30 mark, you haven't looked back in a really long time. But we're always experiencing new things no matter how old we are. So..... sometimes something new happens, and for whatever reason, it makes you really happy, but in a lying-in-bed-in-silent-tears kinda way. You can't believe you lived through those things, and are here, at 28 years old, not just still alive, but more than okay.... experiencing things that you thought just happened to other people. All he ever said was that you'd amount to nothing, that you were a mistake, you were dirty, that you were doomed to fail purely because of who you are.
You're torn between being overcome with gratitude at the universe for what you have, and being torn to pieces all alone in the dark as soon as night falls by the sudden trauma of all those memories washing over you like a tsunami. I can't believe I forgot all those things. I guess I had to or I wouldn't survive.
I just remembered my dream from last night. How weird. I didn't remember when I woke up this morning that I'd even had a dream. It just came flooding back just then when I was reading about Machine Gun Fellatio and putting one of their tracks on Welsh's CD.
I was working at some venue or other and stepped out the back door for a cigarette, and I was on the roof. with sloping surfaces and stuff. There was this beautiful orange and gold sunset over the city. And already leaning up against the sloped rooftop were Loveshark and Pinky Beecroft and they were either side of me. The three of us had a smoke and had chilled out friendly conversation about something that didn't mattter that much.
Bizarre.
I've got lots of work to do for various jobs I'm on in the next two months, and I'm not sure where to start. At the beginning, I suppose. It's time to start hammering away at a gig next month that I cannot allow myself to stuff up again, or I'm going to be a complete mess.
Preparation is a bit annoying sometimes. Lots of repetition. Deliberate brainfrying. Not a creative process. I was really discouraged by that gig I just mentioned, because I'd put a shitload of work into it over a few weeks, and still stuffed things up. I really disappointed myself. The reason it was so hard to swallow was because I had actually put all the preparation in that I should've. I'd done the work, and still fucked it. It would've been okay if I'd been some unprepared dickhead who doesn't put the work in. When you've put work in and then fucked it, you're forced to think, "Okay well... maybe I'm just crap at doing this particular kind of job, and maybe I should let it go and focus on things I can do better."
Heavyhearted about doing the second show. A lot of it was foot-stompin' piannah-thumpin' fun, or course. But my mistakes were absolutely unforgivable. I'm not sure I can kick this deer-in-the-headlights problem in as fast a time as I need to. It's not stage fright... it's just... I can't THINK. There's lights and I'm listening to the rhythm section, and not my own playing. When I'm singing and playing guitar or bass, I know how to find the place between thinking - - - - nothing - - - - ...but simultaneously being deep in concentration. But when I'm playing piano in this band I just can't seem to find that headspace.
And I'm not sure I'll ever be as good on piano again as I was when I was a kid. I won all the prizes and got to the top in the classical side of things all those years ago. Maybe I should just be happy with that.
Piano gives me so much pleasure, and when I'm at home on my own, I play well, and with confidence on the newer jazz things I've learned in the last couple of years... and I even improvise with some kind of finesse. But I feel so negative about the instrument at the same time. No matter how much I try to manipulate myself out of attaching negativity to it, I still sit down to it sometimes with a heavy depressed sigh. I really don't know why. I do love playing piano. I love to listen to those long tricky Debussy arpeggiations; they come a lot easier to me than playing bluesy chords in a basic rhythm on the 2nd inversion... and I love being so familiar with an instrument that I don't really have to think about what I'm doing. Until someone's watching me, that is. Then I turn into a 4th grade big-note eazi-play moron.
Yeah I'm tired and maybe I'm just a bit down about the looming gig that I might screw up again. I'm sure I'll wake up being annoyingly bouncy about it.
Tomorrow I have to go up to the mountains and rehearse with Acoustic Man. I would rather stay here and throw more things out and listen to the Beatles.
I have an itchy-between-the-toes urge to make some music but my midi controller is at the other house!!!!
Oh why do music and meowing have to be the only other ways besides words that I can express myself?
I can't even draw. My drawing/poetry book is at the other house too.
Bloody hell.
And no wine.
*grumble*
*stomp*
*pout*
*finds a pen and spots some A4 in the printer*
Uninspiring medium.
Feckin' feckin'.
*goes outside wrapped in crushed velvet (the crushed velvet that Anonymous looked so Ancient Roman and comedically smexy in yesterday), to have evening cigarette and begins drawing....*
Further proof that my brother rocks:- he can back a trailer at an impossible angle into an impossibly small carport. And he makes so much goddamn sense. I love people who make sense. No complicated bullcrap. Just.... good sense.
Today involved balcony coffees and chats with the Brother, then frantically running downstairs with awkward heavy things, then zipping to the other side of town, then frantically running up a flight of stairs with heavy awkward things, answering the phone to Corkscrew who has apparently found me
[[[[The Guitar]]]]]
But I don't have $4000. Then it was the zipperoo back to the Shoebox. Then I was an email pest at Anon while he was at work, because at this time every year, his job is really hard, so I thought I'd make it harder. Then he rang me. I kept forgetting to try and keep the volume of my laugh down while on the phone.
And I have to mention that during my frantic moving of belongings today, there was one large bag that started quacking every time I picked it up. Then when I plonked it down, it stopped quacking. I'm presuming it was a bag of the Kid's belongings. I mean... I think. I'm pretty sure I don't have anything that quacks in my kinky toy collection.
Sometimes I get irritated at myself for subconsciously thinking I'm this emotionally superior person.
I'm all horrified at myself when I have to fight to stay the monarch of my kingdom; when I find that on the odd occasion, a part of my journey has a higher grade of difficulty. As if I'm this perfect being who doesn't find any situation at all confronting. Something/someone moves me, and that night I'm sitting with a glass of wine staring at the stars, trying to nut it out, and I can't work out why the answer isn't immediately evident.
"But I'm the champion of the analysis of human behaviour," she says in her head. "I know everything. So why can't I work out why I feel strange? How come I choke up so easily when forcing myself to look back?"
Oh. Maybe you don't actually know everything. Has that occurred to you?
Just because you know why you're having to hack through the old things again, it doesn't mean it isn't going to feel weird and scary. It's not immediately in your memory anymore, but you have always been a swift shapeshifter.
This, now, is the truth.
That back then was the lies.
"Why is he so kind to you?" it hisses.
And all I say in reply is, "He is just kind to me. There's no 'why'. It's not complicated. You want it to be complicated. I know it's simple. You will leave me alone now."
At least now, I murmur any one of my truths to it, because there are enough of them to cast an answer to anything that happens. And it is immediately satisfied and falls away again.
It comes back now and again, and you have to be vigilant.
School of Rock I'm really sad. I was at the School of Rock today and it made me melon collie. The kids who were a year below me are finished. Now I don't know what to do. The hallways and tables in the sunshine were all deserted. My boots made really loud cwok! - cwok! noises as I walked down the hallways to visit the teachers. No kids with terrible haircuts sitting around strumming guitars and playing harmonicas. I guess I'll just get to know the new ones and see how I can help them too. But I graduated before they came along, so I didn't have a chance to get to know them. So.... they'll be weirded by someone who seemingly has not a lot to do with the college, who slides up to their side drinking a strawberry milkshake and enquires about their studies and career goals and songwriting efforts, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Teh! Oh well. I guess they'll have to just deal with it. I'll bribe them to open up to me using lollies and perhaps a pocket full of fragrant buds.
Oh I'm just joking.
Another reason to love my brother to pieces. Er... tomorrow I drive far away to my lovely new abode with a trailer full of stuff. I love my brother so much. As I told Anon this morning, I wasn't going to ask him for help because he's such a love, and he's got so much on his mind. He's had such a hard trot, and life has been really unfair to him in the past year or two. He really deserves a happily ever after, that man. The universe seems intent on making it as hard for him as possible. Anyway... without even a peep from me, he was already on the case today. He had already planned to bring me the trailer first thing tomorrow morning, the gorgeous gorgeous man that he is.
At 10am, he and I shall be lugging my things down the stairwell. All that shall remain will be what we need to get through until Saturday morning. No doubt Creepy will come sniffing to ask where I'm going. I shall tell him I am moving to Melbourne. And give him a specific address. And then tell him to come and stay anytime. Remind me to look up the location of a good abbatoir in Melbourne.
iTunes, Friends and Why I Am A Loser. iTunes is mysteriously working again. I am making CDs for my Welshkitty. The first one is of songs recorded by friends and acquaintances. I am so proud to have such talented friends, and it makes me so happy when they're on the stage and I look at all the people applauding for them. One time I was in the wings at the Metro (it's a large-ish venue in the middle of Sydney city) watching my mate sing, and all the people cheered so loudly and I'd been waiting for that moment for him for two years. I cried. Yes, I did. Alright. I'M NOT A CRIER!!!!
I didn't tell him that I cried for happiness for him.
He's already got a big head. Talented bastard.
He emailed me a few days ago from Las Vegas. Crazy mofo.
Anyway.
iTunes starts working every time a man comes over and wants to sex me. Even if he's not successful, iTunes works. It is a pattern and I have proven it. It started working when Acoustic Man came over. Oh crikey he's supposed to be staying over on Wednesday night for a two-day jam, and I have nothing for him to sleep on because my mattress... it be at my other house. Crappety-crap. Usually he'd sleep in my bed with me in the old days and there was no hanky panky. Just mates sleeping in the same bed and poking each other in the ribs and giggling like girls. (no I'm not a girl)
But now..... no. I be such an absurdly loyal little woman to Anonymous that not even a Thai laksa with fresh scallops could tempt me away from him. There are also other complications. Complicatissimo.
Gah.
And I'd trust him not to try anything with me... but last year, I kinda stuffed that up by letting him try something with me when I was here on my own feeling sad. See what I mean? I be a loser.
Thou shalt not curl up and die. Oh shit... too late.
He needs his wallet anyway. That got you outta bed didn't it. Eh? Eh?
You're such a pussy. Tough girl my arse. You're pathetic.
*ahem*
This morning, Anonymous was like this:
And that makes me go
...but I really need to get my massage chops up again. I didn't realise how long it'd been since I massaged someone. I'm all crap at it because I haven't massaged anyone (like.. *that*) in... hmmm..... 9 years.
But I have professional help in bettering myself in this area. I have three close friends who are qualified massage therapists. Ha! Funny actually.... the three of them are like this:
But... they can't teach me how to do the second half of the massage session. Mu. Ha. .... coz....... . . . . . . . . . I already know how to do that bit.
.....boobies are so multi-functional. Print copy fax.
June 29, 2008 - Bubbly Man, KittyCats and... stuff.
We have been working as a team getting the Shoebox in order this week:
More Details on the Bubbly Man:
I hate keyboards.
Anyway.... this morning I had quite a leisurely morning, shuffling about the new house drinking coffee in daggy old trackie shorts and chatting to Spooky. She didn't end up doing my tarot reading last night because she'd had a bellyful of the bubbly that the Yucky Man bought. He was so yucky. He thought he was irresistable. He told me he owns some ooh-laa-laa building on Market St and he might as well have told me he had a Pokemon card collection. I do not give a shite. Heh... like, "What... you've got money??? Oh please let me fuck you!"
.......ugh!
I'm really getting sick of some of these stupid men at gigs.
My deliberate non-reaction to his claim to be some kind of millionaire really confused him. So he gave me his business card to prove his status. I just thanked him politely and slid it into my back pocket without looking at it. Then he stood there for a sec watching me put my leads into the box, and goes, "It's not a sexual thing or anything."
HAR!
Way to hang yourself, mate.
Like... okay.... the bubbly is a nice compliment. But for goodness' sake.
It buys you nothing whatsoever.
Kitties.
But ahem. As I unpacked some things this morning and just enjoyed being able to have a leisurely Sunday morning (even though last Sunday morning was very entertaining indeed), I continued to work on getting the kitties to love me. Especially Ash, who last night tested my arse to see if it was comfortable to sit on, and then decided that it wasn't good enough. I was so affronted. Heh.
Then this morning as soon as I got out of bed, I fed the kittycats, and then Cat-Cat went all aloof to her mistress's room, but Ash came into my room and remarked on the weather as I folded clothes and put them into drawers:
Then after a while Cat-Cat passed by and saw that my door was open, and thought I didn't see her slipping in to check out the scene. She's very shy. She was beaten badly as a kitten and was rescued from near death by Spooky. She's still very wary but her curiosity got the better of her this morning:
The Kid met me at my work this afternoon as has been the routine, and on the way up the crowded street out of the busy suburb I work in, she got bored and asked me if she could take photos. I liked this one:
Then I took her to see her new home and she was way too excited all the way there. When we got there she shook Spooky's hand when meeting her, and I was proud as punch.
Then on the way home we had to do a stupid errand for a stupid person who never pays me any stupid money.
Then she requested Thai.
I cannot say no to Thai.
EVER.
And mmmmmmmm............... I'm really ridiculously tired and a bit cold.
Tonight at work a man had the bartender bring my table a bottle of bubbly. He thought that bought him my affection and as many cuddles from me as he wanted after I finished singing. And er... WHILE I was singing, even. Gah. Get off me you yucky man. Anyway... I'm coming to you live from what is not a Shoebox... but perhaps something more like home than the Shoebox was. The Shoebox did have its charm, though. I'm so glad to be moving away from Creepy. He's been watching me closely this week. Fucker.
Oh look. It's Old Sydney Town. How insignificant we are.
Are we?
How much does it all really matter?
I'm all obsessed with living this crazy huge life and loving with everything I've got and seizing the carp and all that. But... at the same time, I am nothing.
Tomorrow's List:
Take the Kid to the northern beaches and stifle the bad things as I walk away.
Stop somewhere nice for a bit of breakfast.
Go to the new house.... a name for which I have yet to conjure up.
Give my housemate lots of money. Eck. I don't like handing the green ones over. Demand that she make me a coffee in return.
Take stripey bargain-shop bags full of clothes and other things into the house. Go back out and get temporary sleeping stuff and drag that into the house too. Suss out the carpet and vacuum it. Does it smell funny? No? Good. Burn incense anyway just in case. The place has got to smell like me or I won't feel at home. Like a dog has to pee somewhere to feel at home, I have to burn incense. Oh... that reminds me. I need to get more Nag Champa.
Make myself a nice beddy-byes for sleeping there after work. Get heater out of car too, and put it in the boudoir. Radio too, perhaps. Bed, warmth, and music. All set for makeshift sleepages until my furniture comes next weekend. But there still seems to be something missing... *wink*
Search for two kittycats and say hello to them, and tell them if they ever go in my room and make a mess, I shall serve them their own tails for dinner. Except.... one of them doesn't have a tail. Will have to improvise.
Take another look at the size of the Kid's room and how I'll set up the studio.... oh meow meow. Clap hands like an audio engineer wanker in the studio to measure natural sonic reflective stuff. Sing a short loud yeah-yeah uh-huh phrase. If it's got a yucky slap-reverb type sound, consider ways to make it a better-sounding room but not too dead either.
Go out the back and giggle at the Hills Hoist again.
Go out the front and look at the pretty city from the terrace thingy.
Go see the Vixen (who lives around the corner) and eat all her food.
Go to rehearsal. Drink less wine than everyone else again. Get teased about it. Again.
Go to verk and check messages from Anonymous on the way. Shall he be coming sniffing and smiling in search of his lover tonight? Oh we hope that we'll be seeing him. We misses his face. We misses his touch. His voice. Haven't seen him since Sunday morning. *hooooowwwwwl*
Get bored at verk. Sing songs as if you've NOT sung them ten thousand times. Act like this is the gig of your life and then after half an hour you actually believe that it's a totally like awesomeness gig.
(I'm the master of self-trickery.)
Go "home" (yaaaaaaaay!).
Drink wine and have affectionate girly chats and have tarot reading and get scared at whatever she says.
Erotic writing fucking rocks. We've been writing stories to each other today seeing as we can't be together. And I've been sending him naughty pictures. MUAHAHAHA. He's actually really good at erotic writing!!
I mean... he's most sensual bloke you'll ever meet but still... pretty good!
Who votes that his work be published on here?
How many votes do you think we need to convince him?
He was in for the koala treatment today... my god. I would've smelled him coming up the stairs and opened the door and thhhckk! wrapped myself around him and smelling him and kissing him and moulding myself into every spare nook and cranny of his body and pulling every bit of him as close to me as I can using the kind of strength that only comes out when I am in a near sexual frenzy....
Agh!
But I be staying in my new place over the weekend, and sniffing around for trouble after work tomorrow night and Sunday morning before work. Meheh. Last Sunday morning was freaking hilarious. (the Towel)
Okay... so for how long now have you guys been putting up with my manic gushing about Anonymous? Months and months! It's really, really nuts. I'm just not accustomed to feeling like this ALL the TIME, and with no slowing or easing... it just gathers strength and speed as it goes on. Yet, I'm so calm. I know I said a week ago or something that the heartfelt things I'm saying to him on a daily basis are freaking me out. But it's more just a sense of:
"Whoa... I did NOT just say that to someone! CRRRAAZZEH!!!"
...and not a feeling of:
"You should not have said that. He is going to use it against you sooner or later. Or he is not man enough to hear it. He is going to be afraid of it and throw it back at you in bewilderment."
I have been afraid, though, that when I say things to express what he means to me, that it makes him feel he has to do something about it, or think of something equally as mooshy to say... ya know? He's perfectly capable of stringing words together most of the time when required. But as a rule, blokes don't do that. They just snog you instead. I have NO problem with that. No problem at aaaaaaaaaaaall.......... mm-hmmmmmmm..... prrowrr.....
I won't go back through my archives and actually calculate how far back go my adoring observations of his:
overall character
emotional maturity
kindness
modesty-yet-pride
mannerisms
subtle looks
wit
left-brain, right-brain... thing...
touch
face
sense of humour
work ethic
taste
and er... taste... heh!
talent
hidden naughtinesses!
kisses
determination
steadiness
consistency
bum
oh... I'll stop there....
You'll probably find that my earliest entries about him date back to the old efx2 before it went down. Heh. Long time ago. But I referred to him as something different.
At a certain point, about the six-month mark, I guess you're going to have serious talks (well, as serious as I get ~ dick jokes still come out regardless) ...talks about what you both really really think... and talk together about what you're both still figuring out for yourselves and need to bounce off each other to reach conclusions on. Especially if one or both of you are in a place where you're having to re-evaluate things a little. Or... a lot.
You slowly reach into your back pocket and pull out a couple of fears and foibles that you've been holding back a little, and you just show them... but knowing that they already pretty much know what they are. But... if someone is presenting you with their precious treasures and secrets and fears that nobody else must see, you still reach out and look into their eyes and accept them and acknowledge that they have spent a certain amount of courage on being a little more bare to you than they were a couple of months ago. Especially if they're the kind of person who holds the cards extremely close.
You look at what they've handed you, so that they can see that you're looking at them carefully, and you're not grimacing or angry, even. They need to see that you understand why they were afraid to expose things they didn't previously want you to see about them, and you have to show that while it's important to know these things, it's still completely inconsequential, and has absolutely no effect on the way you smille involuntarily - stupidly - every time you think about them.
"Here." he says. "These are the things that have happened to me. This is the conclusion that my experiences have forced me to believe. I have been left with no alternative but to think [THIS]. Prove me wrong. And need I fear that from you?"
"No. You need not fear that from me."
"But everyone else gets tired, and caught up in the details, and then they just fall out of love. It happens to everyone. It's a cycle."
"I do not fall out of love."
"You will."
(*mentally noting down Anon's indirect acknowledgement that I am indeed in love with him*)
"No.... I won't. I don't even know how to."
"You're too young to be so sure."
"Shut up old man."
" *wry smile* ....why are you so sure?"
"Well I guess that like you, it's my experiences that forced me to my own conclusion. You really want to go back and look at everything I've done?"
"Yes...?"
"I am afraid that if you knew about everything I've done that you will think I am.... something bad."
"You need not fear that from me."
"But...."
"You need not fear that from me."
...and around we go, I guess.
So I suppose... what I've put into words today about what I believe about [[[[[[[[[ LOVE ]]]]]]]]] has really made me realise that I am such an idealist when it comes to love. Yet, the word "idealist" suggests that it's just ideals that I am not capable of fully carrying out, and with longevity. But... for the first and last time ever, I've reached a kind of.... state of enlightenment....? ,,,,about it?
(I'm trying to write the way I'm saying it in my head - shut up!)
I am saying things that I know for sure, and I'm not "trying out" theories this time, like before the big break of no-relationshippy time. Instead of "trying it out", I actually know it.
Fear can't exist. It's got to be exposed, acknowledged, and then pushed aside, and then replaced with hope. And why bother beating about the bush? You gotta go hard. You might die tomorrow. They need to remember you in the last 24 hours telling them how much you adored them. As I said in an email to Anon today (I have a nasty habit of yabbering at him about nothing while he's at work and I'm not doing any weekday gigs) ...
"You gotta love with a passion so strong that they are swimming around in your adoration every day for the rest of their life and smiling right through from their mouth through their bones and their heart every time they leave your company;
it's GOT to have HOPE."
I think that the following things have to be encompassed or there is not romantic love:
HOPE
FUN
(no trust me - it's a biggie.)
CONSISTENT CONCERN FOR THE OTHER OVER SELF
DISREGARD FOR TIME
By this I mean that time shouldn't have any adverse bearing on the relationship. Love has no understanding of time. Therefore, it is no weaker ten or twenty or fifty years on than it was the day you first kissed. It should actually be stronger.
MUTUAL RESPECT
which is demonstrated daily
CONFLICT RESOLUTION
with a view to totally ending up snogging each other and perhaps even having a lovely session on the kitchen floor.
(nothing should remain except lessons learned.... no resentment or hostility or ammo to use on each other for next time)
TOUCH / PHYSICAL LOVE / "RAWR."
Deadset, man. Just as important as everything else.
CONSTANT DEFENCE AGAINST
INAPPROPRIATELY-EXPRESSED ANGER
CONSTANT DEFENCE AGAINST FEAR
Fear is like a viral thing. It'll get in, and then it'll multiply and infect.
Touch can be your garlic cloves! Once again, I am deadset serious.
People underestimate the power of touch and they shouldn't.
Oh god I'm too tired. I've been lying here thinking for ages. I think I'm not making any sense. I'll read this again in the morning. Forgive any inconsistencies.
I'm a Sydney chick who is constantly thinking and saying too much about everything. My blog is a valve that eases the pressure for me and keeps me in touch with all the mates I've made in the years I've been blogging. They really are a special bunch. They know I talk too much crap but they comment and humour me anyway.
And yes, I'm one of the MB refugees and that's how I came across efx2 and the mysterious HRH Keith.
Sit down, have a coffee, have a read, and leave comments. I love comments.
