the sweets

As my shrink sits back comfortably in her green leather chair, it slightly swivels to the left to face me a little better. I haven't gone to see her in a while but that chair is as hideous as i remember it.

She is giving me that look. That Give-Me-A-Break-Girl look. I've just told her i was not going to have sex again. Or at least not until i leave for London.

"...And exactly why is that?", she carefully indulges me.

I take a bite out of the homemade chocolate fudge one of her *cough*kissass*cough* students gave her for Christmas, which she politely offered me (and which might win her the World Greatest Shrink Ever title) as i try to formulate my defense in the most reasonable & logical way possible.

"Well...", i begin as the fudge slowly melts in my mouth, "it has happened twice already and it is shitting me to no end quite frankly. The first time, i was a little intoxicated and - yes, although usually when i am in such a state, the little filter that i actually do have completely disappears, showing me whatever lies underneath in its purest form - like a Pandora's box, if you will - i still discarded it as simply Me Being High, y'know? BUT when it happened again - when i was completely sober & fully conscious, when i thought i really did like this guy, when he was smart, and funny, and nice, and had me all excited like a giddy little 14-year-old again, when everything went as satisfyingly as anyone could hope for, and it still slapped me in the face afterwards, well, it just confirms that my brain is utterly shite at the moment, and i just cannot risk having that occur to me another time, thankyouverymuch. Ergo, the Not Having Sex Again Policy."

'It' would be Mr. ASs' surprising & dramatic reappearance in my crap brain [this time withstanding but] whenever i have sex. Which is - let it be official - not exactly a turn on, considering the circumstances.

"And to be completely honest, i'm not even sure it's Mr. ASs himself whom i miss rather than what i had with him? Or at least how i felt when i was with him...", i continue as i quickly run my tongue along the back of my teeth to sweep any vestiges of chocolate that may remain. "I mean, when he first appeared to me, this was what i heard: 'Hey, this is what you want, girl, and you won't get it here with this bloke. Who are you trying to fool?'...! I mean, he was fucking TAUNTING me, canyoubelieveit?! But not with him, y'see. It was with what it was that i really wanted... Because as he was saying those words it was actually my Twelve-Year-Old Self's voice that i heard! And she HATES him!... Alright, so i was completely buzzed out : i'd also seen a two-dimensional white stick figure of Pinocchio earlier on, riding a bicycle over a black screen, who then turned into a 60's-like girl with cotton-drops earrings & shoes riding into a jungle, and when she had to pass over a dangerously narrow bridge & reached down the middle, it dropped to its lowest gravitational point where she suddenly burst into a half-bird half-butterfly winged creature and flew away. So yes, i was definitely pretty damned fucked up. But still..." I take the last piece of chocolate fudge into my mouth.

Neuroticism level: High. Sugar Level: Severe - About to bounce off walls.

"So what is it that you wanted... or want?" She then grabs a pen and proceeds into scratching her back all the while staring me down like a hawk. This woman is brilliant.
"Mwell...", i start, my mouth still full. "Ironno!"

Distress Level: High. Denial Level: Severe - Will turn 180 degree to backfire in face imminently. Over-Dramatisation Level: High - Consistent.

"Well, let me say this...". She puts down her pen. "And i may be a little biased here, but this is from someone who's...you know...been there, done that..." I smile. I love it when she gets all motherly on me. "I understand how we engage in sex so casually these days, and in some cases, why not? But sometimes, we get intimate far sooner than we get intimacy." Pause for effect. I smile again. "And in your case, you got that intimacy before you got intimate with Mr. ASs [as relatively little time that had actually required], whereas with these guys, it was just sex. Which is all good & well, but i think as long as you're still here, with your family & everything else, you won't allow yourself to let go and be completely free & open to become truly close with anyone... But not having sex again... It just doesn't sound like a feasible option either, to put it like that. Especially if you're a girl who likes chocolate that much!"

I smile and nod ponderously. The thing is, i know all of this. I know that there's a part of me that wants to go out there and date, and live, and experience all there is for any twenty something to experience. But another part of me is also not very good at it, i'm afraid. And that part wants to get attached, to grow and learn. And most of all, it wants to feel again. And i also know that as long as i am still here, as long as i have Project London hovering over my head for another couple of months until it can finally come into fruition, i cannot get attached. I cannot move & get on with my life. That Life. And that is what i want. I am in this psychological limbo where i am ready to jump ship but the ledge is not yet at my footstep. And it is starting to royally piss me off.

J has been offered a job by Big Corporate Company in the U.S. and though it may not be his initial first choice (and in the U.S. of Saint George), it is still a FANTASTIC opportunity, and i am genuinely so happy for him [and surprisingly a lot more than my cold selfish little self ever thought could ever be!]. JF (my other fag & also the Queen Bitch as i fondly like to refer to him) also landed a great first job in Fancy Drug Firm. I am oh so very proud & excited that my friends are such uber geniuses and getting to start this new chapter in their lives that i am beaming by simply living vicariously through them, really (i mean, what else does a faghag do?). But i also wish i could join them, you understand. I would like for them to be proud of me as well. And although i am nowhere near knowing what to do for the rest of my life, i have been sitting on this project for nearly two years now, and as i see all these folks running along with theirs, they & i alike would just want to fucking shoot it to the moon already.

"I mean, were you looking to get yourself attached with this guy? Because i don't quite understand why you would have to stop having sex until you leave since it wouldn't tie you down anyway if you're not. And there's no reason for not having a little fun before you leave..." She provocatively raises one eyebrow and gives me a complicit smile. Sometimes, i just wish we were at a bar with martinis in our hands so i can just drunkenly leap over and hug her.

"I suppose i was..." Despite my best efforts otherwise. "I was just happily surprised that i found myself excited over him. Over anything actually... I've been feeling a tad complacent over the last few months, and i just jumped on the first opportunity to feel something remotely similar to anything that was part of what i was truly craving for... And that's when Mr. ASs suddenly appeared..."

She shifts her weight over to her left side and gives me her I-Know-It's-Okay look. "I guess he's like a way for your mind to remind you of your true intentions, the ones that you may have forgotten or ignored, and keep you in check...". She then slowly smiles at me out of the corner of her mouth as she sees me refreshed in my memories. "I just find it very interesting that out of all things, it should be Pinocchio that you saw..."

*light bulb flashing above head*

"Ohmygod!...That is so interesting!..."

Girly Dorkiness Level: On the rise from Medium to High towards Grinning Squeals. Egocentrism Level: High.

"I have never thought of that one before..." [Nevermind that i had seen Shreck 2 previous to that fateful weekend and laughed like a tool through that scene where Pinocchio played a pivotal role & saved the day. This interpretation is so much more self-serving.]

"And how it turned into a girl going into a jungle... And then taking flight?...", she continues. Oh. My. Gawd. "I guess your censorship really does go down when you are high, in such a way that you are revealed to your true self and everything that you hold dear but somehow forgot..." She warmly smiles at me. And it feels like i've been picked up after being dropped out from someone's pockets.

Egocentrism Level: Severe - About to drown in pond.

"Well, on that lovely note, we have to end it here, my dear. And go have some fun if you feel like it. Just remember to be honest with yourself & your goal. Your Goal...", she wisely warns me. I can almost hear the horns & drums playing in the background. "Want another fudge for the ride home?"

She is the World Greatest Shrink Ever. And my brain is not shit! It is AWESOME!

*splash!*

it's the most wonderful time

Reasons why Christmas is fantabulous:

• Buying gifts! Did my Christmas shopping yesterday and was TOTALLY into it, picking out prezzies for my mum (a beautilful tweed pencil skirt with a teal sweater - le gorgeous), my sister (penguin themed pjs, undies, socks and huge coffee mug - so nauseatingly cute she'll barf out the damn bird), my cutest petutiest 3-year-old cousin (a box of crayons & a Dora pop-up book), and for another 7-year-old to whom i am his Secret Santa (a beautiful Fables de La Fontaine book, just like the one i used to love). It reminded me how fun it is to really give rather than receive (although receiving is very much the tops as the second point shall demonstrate).
  
  Roaming along the kids section in the bookstore, surrounded by all the colors and glossy covers, i was also whisked back to the time when each penny i saved would propel me towards the nearest book shop where i would deliberate for hours on the one i would take home. There was this collection i remember of ancient myths that i coveted - Egypt, Greek, Roman and Celtic tales (yes, i was about this close to become a Dongeons & Dragons afficionado). Over two years, it had been such a long & hard endeavor to me that i bought the last book out of sheer principle as my literary taste had been captivated by Monsieur Poirot's charming mustache & the Great Agatha by then. That's called devotion, people! I remember how much books meant to me as a kid, when i didn't have Life Obligations to worry about or derail me from it, when i could lounge around and read all day while my friends did their thing. Books were dependable. And they also made me look less of a social inadequate than i actually was/am (ahem). Which is probably why i am now one of those aunts & cousins who will happily shove down a book down any little child's throat at the first sign of weakness. (Also, in case he doesn't appreciate the magic of Les Fables de La Fontaine, well, i'll just have to keep it now, won't i? Hahahahaha!)
  
  Anywho. I have only me Daddio left to buy for now. A challenge that must not be taken lightly as he is one who would not like ANYTHING that he receives yet sulk when he doesn't. Wonderful character, i know. Thank goodness it's something he did not pass down on me!



• Everything i get is now labelled not under 'Another Useless Consumerist Purchase' but neatly wrapped - like everything else - under 'Christmas Gift For Moi!' Behold, so far, these can be found in my stocking:
  
  

Yes. That is a vase. For my Future Flat. I think it's beautiful, okay?






For my Europe Longing Days.





A 'rare collection' of short stories! Hurrah!





...I have not the words...
This will be a GREAT holiday...





• I was going to say 'The Snow' but the little snow that fell has now been replaced with the goddamn rain....Ugh. Carry on, then...



• The nice sales clerks. Yes, i know. Either they are, or i am peculiarly nice, which, in any case, is so much more pleasant to deal with. They are all smiles and strangely patient & indulgent to find gifts with you, laughing with your silly picks for your sister, giggling about ending up buying just for yourself, wishing you a 'Joyeuses Fêtes!' as you leave. It's all just so pleasant! There must be a course or a conference beforehand, of course, and somehow forced upon but it still feels quite nice.



• Making mixed cds. Also known as one of my top Favorite Waisting Time Activity. Now, you all must know that i am a shameless fan of the classics - Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Brenda Lee & the likes, even though they are endowed with the power to cause seizures - but it's also such fun (and a challenge!) to find newer rocking holiday tunes like The Ramones' 'Merry Christmas' & The Ravoenettes' 'Chirstmas Song' to put them all together!
  
  'River' by Joni Mitchell is an absolute must - despite that one is a tad inclined to gulp down an entire bottle of whiskey only to jump off a bridge afterwards - but somehow i've managed to slip it in between 'It's Christmas Time' by what sounds like The Miracles (do correct me if i'm wrong) & 'Rock of Ages', then followed by Sinead O'Connor's 'Silent Night'. Right. Not exactly the cheeriest, is it?... But the cd ends with 'Maybe This Christmas' by Ron Sexsmith, which is really lovely & sweet. With a little pinch of bitter perhaps but still very sweet & more than a bearable listen during these times...



• The Food! Living here, every self-respected food lover's favorite cooking show, À la Di Stasio, is the summum of class, good taste & good food. Josée Di Stasio, the bona fide hostess, is a little like Martha Stewart but less insane. And without all the bows & ribbons & flowers & dresses, anything that might distract from the great FOOD she & her local celebrity guests concoct in her immaculately delicious and warm kitchen. And then, there's the lighting... it makes the pasta shine, the meat glisten, the puddings luscious. She makes me want to cook! Let me write that again. She. Makes. Me. Want. To. Cook. ME. Who considers an omelette as part of her Sophisticated Dish Repertoire. So yes, allow me to tuck that under Christmas Miracle of 2006.
  



• All above reasons to distract me from My Boy Troubles.... *gnaw at cheeks, etc.*

ask

It snowed this weekend! First snow on the first of December. This, to me, is deemed to be a Good Sign. Of what, i do not know yet. But looking outside, i faintly felt a little giddy about it, to be honest. This is what it looked like on Friday morning:


A few hours later, it then turned into this:

(photo courtesy of mister steveyb)

That is ice, in case you can't see. And that's a car underneath the tree, underneath the ice. Also, the powers went out. Welcome to the schizophrenic Canadian Weather!

But, more gloomily, is it a dire omen of things to come? To warn never to trust what one perceived as good too quickly...? Hmm... Thankfully, i don't give a flying fuck! Ting-a-ling-a-ling!

It's been such a long while since i've actually enjoyed a nice Christmas [yes, we are well into December, and i thus allow myself to fully indulge in Holiday chats today. Sue me], and i remember there was a time when i used to looooove singing Christmas carols, to a shameful degree, really, and all the snow, the lights, the trees, the candies, and the giggles. And all the excitement of who's your secret santa, and what to give, and what to eat... Yes, it may be a long time ago, and i was prolly 5, and it's utterly corny, and naïve, and all Christmas is is an excuse to spend and eat a shitload like the aberrent unsatiated pigs that we are but sulking, moaning and be cynical about it all for the next four weeks somehow makes me want to shove my tongue to a frozen pipe and bang my head to it really hard. And believe me, it's not as fun as it sounds. I should know.

So. This season, i solemnly promise to try as hard as i can to be in The Holiday Spirit. There may not be a Christmas tree, there may not be eggnog, hell! there may not even be a whole lot of gifts, but jolly, there will be SINGING!

In related news, look at this hot piece of Santa (courtesy of FIDO cell phone services package for the Holidays):

Had this been the Ol'Saint Nick of my childhood, i would have gladly believed, i tell ya. Hurry down the chimney, indeed....

mama said there'll be days like this

Of all the buses of all the streets in this city, i had to get on the one that is packed with old ladies & crying babies. A crazy old lady & one crying baby, to be exact. And, of course, i had to be running late to my doctor's appointment.

It was uncommonly hot & muggy this morning (16C!), yet always the optimist that i'm reknowned to be, as i stepped in the bus i thought it was rather amusing that she (the Crying Baby) was wailing in tandem with "Dig Your Grave"/"Bury With It". Amusing & ironic, for little that she & i both knew how close she came from being untimely thrown off the bus and meeting her end on the wet pavement. Because, once the song ended, and she still kept up the screeching beat, i realized that it wasn't such a harmonious quirk after all. Oh no. It was an obstinate stand-off siren. As i can no longer keep up the Nonchalant-&-Carefree-Put-Together-Lass that i sometimes like to pretend i am, i calmly turned my head toward the source of distress, and surprise! The Crying Baby wasn't actually a baby at all - she was a bonafide 1 year-old whose stumpy little legs far outstretched the strap where a cute little baby's foot would normally fit! Now, before any of you virtual/imaginary ppl who i pretend are reading this start to berate me for being a cold insensitive bitch, when a person seems to be taller than my knees, who can probably walk and boldly wage mental warfare with 40 other grown-ups, that person can no longer be considered as a 'baby' in a strictly objective physically descriptitve way, no matter what their real age is, and should not benefit from the 'baby'-label consideration. (A similar rule goes with grandmas - if i don't see any white hair & orthopedic shoes, sorry, you're not taking my seat, lady!) Anywho, back to the bus. I shockingly glanced at her mum, who by that time was gazing into space praying, as it seems, for a meteorite to hit her right then & there, and realizing that there is no longer hope, i kept my cool and shuffled towards the back of the bus.

Years of riding on buses have trained my usual challenged sense of balance with a keen steadiness when walking through a crowd at 30km/h without holding a rail (i know, i'm quite proud myself). It's all in the timing. You have to know when the bus is going to stop, speed up, or slow down, and adjust the weight you put on your feet accordingly all the while spotting supporting spots. When i arrived to the middle, and the bus abruptly stopped, i grabbed on to a handrail, carefully avoiding punching a wee little ol'lady who was standing right in front of it. She was wearing a cute little pink beret with a nice green & beige tweed coat. And sunglasses. Nevermind that is was pouring rain outside... "Are you getting off here?", she sweetly asked me. I looked outside and noticed we were in the middle of traffic. "No, no", i replied, smiling, polite as i am. Now before i describe what happened next, i must clarify that my firmly gripping hand was far above her head and the sleeve of my coat was nowhere near her wrinkly old face. Yet GOD KNOWS what possessed that CRAZY WOMAN to grab my hand, TEAR IT AWAY FROM THE RAIL AND LET ME FALL while wearing a GODDAMN SKIRT over EVERYONE just when the bus was SPEADING UP! As the (fortunately!) nice ppl i hit helped me up as best they could (did i mention that is was silly crowded? and fucking raining? which therefore implies that i was holding a huge umbrella, my ginormous handbag with my laptop in it and another bag with my working clothes, that everbloody else on the bus was also carrying about fifty other dozen things as well, obviously!), she (the Old Crazy Bitch) mouthed something i couldn't understand bc my ears were plugged in with Modest Mouse. And because i was slightly in shock. Which is fortunate, bc i just might have wacked her head off. Well, okay no, not really. I am kind of a wimp, and i was raised to always be nice to old ladies despite how crazy mad they were. Also, there was no room for me to wag my umbrella without hitting everyone else standing there as well.

Once i was firmly on my two feet, i got the hell away from the Old Crazy Bitch before she figured it'd be fun to stab me with her little heels and finally found my way to the back where - HALLELUIAH! - there was actual SPACE! "Home free!", i thought. "Only 10 minutes to the metro, and i can forget about this horrendous ride." And just like that, 10 minutes magically became 20 minutes bc other sweet old ladies had to take an ETERNITY to get on & off the bus, and argue with the driver that their ticket was not, in fact, outdated.

Yes. Twenty minutes. Of blissful humidity, sweating, being poked by umbrellas, elbows, wandering hands, and of a howling 'baby'. Thank goodness i was already heading towards the doctor. Albeit 30 minutes late.

This is reason #37 why i should never go outside. Or wear a skirt.