New Love

I don't have a TV, but I am in a committed relationship with Netflix and I watch all of the current shows online.

People do look at me strangely when I say I don't have cable. Or a TV.

I suspect they figure that since I don't have a boyfriend, I should at least have basic cable in my life. 

A Groovy Kind of Love

We are all familiar with the sequence. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy. There is an attraction, they date. And perhaps they live happily ever after or else they split up and the cycle begins all over again. After an appropriate interval where broken hearts/wounded feelings mended with the help of copious amounts of ice cream eating of course!

That is exactly how things started out with Wookie.

We met last December at one of the comedy nights where I managed to make a complete tit of myself. Shockingly, that didn’t put him right off and over the next few weeks there was more talking (mostly on my part) and subtle flirting continued. He finally made his move one night as we walked home post comedy which resulted in a most lovely snogging session. The lad didn’t have much chat, but it turns out he had a talented tongue regardless. We made plans to meet on New Year’s Eve after he was done work, but thanks to a longer than usual shift (him), a dead phone battery (me) and general New Year’s Eve madness, that didn’t pan out. Feeling guilty about the whole fiasco, he contacted me the next morning and we made plans to meet up after I was back from Berlin. He suggested going to the Stand, which was actually quite nice; we both liked comedy and I’d never been there before. It was a perfect evening. Lots of laughs thanks to the stellar line up, an equal amount of private jokes between us two; meeting up with fellow comedy lovers and heading out to a pub post show and of course, more of that talented tongue. So when he called to set up another date for that Sunday, of course, I was more than happy.

And that’s where it all went so very wrong.

For starters, he showed up more than 20 minutes late. There was no explanatory text/phone message to give me a heads up and no apology when he finally did get there. Fortunately, I had a book with me and so I didn’t really notice the passage of time. I did however notice a couple of sympathetic glances from the serving staff who, no doubt have seen their share of poor stood up folk. Seated at the table, he was far more interested in focusing on his phone rather on me. I got staccato responses to my questions and no eye contact. At one point I even stopped talking mid sentence and started counting silently to see how long it would take him to notice the silence: I got to 11. To add insult to injury, he mentioned that he intended to head over to his parents place that evening and had a train to catch in an hour. I took that as a not to subtle request to eat faster so that he could get out of there. Upset and rather frustrated by the total opposite of our previous date and the entire sham of an afternoon, I choked down my meal as quickly as possible. We parted at the street corner and I walked back to my flat in a rage.

Not even a half hour later, he pops up on Facebook chat; GoodNews! My parents are here, so I’m getting a lift down to their place. Wonderful, I responded. And then, because I had nothing to lose and I was still hopping mad I added, Let’s just hope you’re better company for them than you were for me today. Nothing for a while, then I got a Whatever do you mean? which, Reader, was JUST the opening I had been looking for. I spewed out all of my rage and frustrations on to that chat message, holding nothing back. For the next hour or so, we chatted back and forth furiously, both attacking and defending. He claimed he was nervous. I said I was too. He said I was forceful, I said he was confusing. He said I didn’t know anything about football, I said that wasn’t even a reasonable statement. And so it went on until we were both out of steam. Look, let’s just forget about the whole thing and move on with our lives, was my final comment. He agreed, we both signed off and I imagined that I would never hear from him again and perhaps see him only occasionally at comedy events where there were enough other people around for us not to have to converse.

How wrong I was!

We ended up chatting online the next day. And the day after, and the day after that as well. In fact, since that fateful “date” not a single day went by without us chatting online or trading a barrage of text messages. We met at comedy. We met outside of comedy. By then, I had started to plan the fundraiser night and he ended up helping me out in little ways; introducing me to his sister who agreed to come photograph the event, running errands to pick up raffle prizes from around the city and sometimes just listening to me rant about various things that were driving me insane. We talked about everything. With other people he was shy to the point of playing mute. Yet, with each other we were never at a loss for words. I told him about the entire fiasco with Beans and he told me about the girl he’d been crushing on for the past six months. We plotted over ways to get her to realise his existence. He declared that I’d gone long enough without football in my life, and I became Padwan to his Jedi Master. And that is how it has been for these past five months.

Sometimes, the memory of those kisses return. But there is no lingering on a “what if.” I know that this is the better way. Had we not had that disaster date, there may have been a few more meetings, a few more kisses, perhaps even sex. But that is where it would have ended. I am sure of it. I do not want a long term relationship right now and he is not ready for one either. A long term friendship however, we can both handle just fine. Our friends joke about us being a couple and yes, it does seem so; all the hallmarks of a relationship just minus the physical intimacy. And yes, there is love: a lot of it in fact. Somehow, Wookie has managed to make me open up again and trust in love again. Perhaps the next time, I will be ready to go that one step further. But for now, I am happy with this kind of love. And when alls said and done, he is so handy when it comes to the changing of the light bulbs!

On Dating

While chatting with a girly pal the other day, we got talking about the murky world of dating. We'd like to think that we are both smart, savvy and moderately good looking lassies. Yet, between the two of us we have amassed a rather alarming number of dating horror stories. Our conversation lasted for about 2 hours and over that time we made some very interesting observations.

For starters, we figured out that guy time is a lot like dog time, just in reverse. Every minute to a girl is about 7 hours to a guy. Which would possibly explain why when they say, I'll call you soon, and then don't call for about a week. And also why when they do finally call, they they wonder why you're so mad that they've seemingly ignored you for a good many days. Even when you're on a date, the canine like behaviour tends to persist. Chances are, about mid way through the meal they're just going to want to doggy bag the rest, go back home and get you to play with them.

Then again, I've been so far removed from the dating game that I'm not even sure where to begin. Unfortunately life is not like a game of Monopoly with a convenient start point at GO. Incidentally, if you could collect £200 at the start of each new relationship it would certainly help with all the drinks you sometimes need to consume just to be able to get through the some of the dates!

Boy speak, like boy time is another mystery. Men are always going on about how women are cryptic; honestly, they can be just as bad. For example, I was recently at a bar with this guy I fancied, and who by all accounts fancied me as well. The conversation throughout the night consisted of him trying to break down a computer program for me followed by a long analytical discussion on why the TV in the corner had a blinking light. If ANY of you out there can interpret if I am to take that as a " I like you", please, let me know.

I did try to consult my handy dandy pocket dating book, but again because its been so damned long the copy I have is hopelessly outdated and missing a few chapters. An order has been placed for a replacement - with an entire chapter devoted to computer geeks as well! However, knowing my luck by the time it arrives, I'll have met an artist or musician or space cowboy and will need a whole new edition.

Kiss and Tell

Every year in the run up to Christmas, I always have that one special moment that seems to define the season for me. Its something, often a tiny and mundane act or event that is the trumpet blast The Holiday Season is on hand!!!! This year's was just a little extra special.

Last night I was at a bar with some friends when someone pointed out that I happened to be standing right under a bunch of mistletoe. All conversation came to a screeching halt as every single person in the group (and some from adjacent groups as well) turned to see who was going to do the deed. The seconds ticked away feeling like an eternity and I stood there just looking into my drink and wishing that the earth would open up and swallow away my public embarrassment.

After what seemed like an eternity and as people were starting to feel bad for me, my pal leaned over and gave me a loud *muuuuuah* on the cheek. Everyone laughed and the tension was broken and people were turning back to their conversations. Then, the unthinkable happened. Another guy - the undisputed charmer/bad boy/man whore of the group - turned to my pal and loudly exclaimed, Terrible! That's no way to kiss someone under the mistletoe. This is.....and before I or anyone else could react, proceeded to kiss me long and hard and if I'm utterly honest, very very well.

When he finally broke it off to the loud cheers of the bar, I wasn't sure if I was dizzy from the beer, the embarrassment or the fact that I had just had a total overdose of Christmas cheer!

My Weekend or How I Got Screwed by the French

The bags were packed, the plans had been made and it was all systems GO for the mega meeting of summer camp friends in Madrid. Yes, I had planned to take a chance on the "3 months advised" rule hoping that my UK work permit and the fact that I had not one, but TWO jobs to come back to would sway immigration in my favour. Then, the Air Traffic Controllers of France went on strike and my outbound flight was canceled forcing me to put the kibosh on that adventure. That was the first screw-over.

Not wanting to totally miss out on a vaykay, I called my friend Drama in London and asked if I could come crash at his for the weekend. Fortunately, it was simple enough to change my return flight from Barcelona into tickets to London and back. After a delightful dinner catch up with a T Dot pal in Chinatown, it was off to Soho to meet up with Drama at a mutual friend's birthday do.

That night, I must confess I went a little party-mad. It wasn't just the birthday boy who was at the receiving end of complimentary rounds, I was not doing too bad myself. A chance encounter at the bar had lead to some flirty chit chat with a tall and handsome blue eyed stranger. The five minutes at the bar turned into flirty chit chat for the rest of the night once we realised that we were both there for the same birthday party! Huuuum, what are the odds? When we said goodbye at the end of the night, I figured that was it. So it was pleasantly surprising (and quite flattering) when the birthday boy texted me the next morning to ask permission to pass on my phone number to Blue Eyes. 

One text message and phone call later, we were meeting up that evening for dinner, drinks and much more flirty chit chat. And that was the night I got screwed by the French again. Only this time, I didn't mind as much.

After the Drought comes the Thunder

I love my job and I love my colleagues, but 24-7 with the same people in a confined space is enough to make you want to kill even your bestest pal. Which is why, on my days off I usually flee the boundaries of campus at the first available opportunity and spend the day as far away from anything and anyone work related.

Today was the first time I broke that rule. Still, if you could spend extended periods of time in the company of this fine specimen of mankind, wouldn't you stick around as well?

French group leader. Artist. Musician. Boxer. Body of a minor Greek God. Studying law. Knows how to move those hips VERY well. Doesn't snore.

The rain poured down all day today. Indoors as well, a storm was raging. Thunder, lightening.... the works.

That Special Effect

Over the past 10 months since moving to G Town, I seem to have developed a whole new kind of relationship with my parents. Where as before we merely coexisted in the same house with sporadic conversations, we now talked long and often about everything and anything. I thought that I had gotten to know them very well indeed. Apparently, there was still much to learn.

During yesterday's conversation with my mum I was confiding in her as to just how vulnerable I now felt, thanks to the last few months of madness. In trying to explain how I felt, I compared this feeling to my long term fear of heights. In spite of not being comfortable with heights being deathly afraid of heights, I've never let that deter me from climbing to the topmost viewing station on a tower or going on a hike up a perilous path just to be able to get an amazing view from the top. I confessed that I was now terrified of scaling those heights in everyday life. There was a job I had heard of which would be an amazing opportunity and I was afraid to even apply as the fear of failure loomed large.

My mum listened to my rant not saying a word. When I had finished, there was a little pause and she cleared her throat. Listen to me Pixy, she said. Do not let that idiotic fool of a boy stop you from anything. He has caused enough mischief and problems and you cannot allow your life to be dictated by the actions of a bloody arsehole who does not understand the meaning of common decency.

The advice was sound and I would have been suitably consoled by her words had I not been gobsmacked instead as I realised that I had just heard my mother swear for the first time ever.

Beans really should be proud of the overwhelming effect he has had on the women in my family.

The Omen

A few months ago to celebrate St. Paddy's day, I bought a little shamrock plant. It was the cutest little thing and I found a nice little pot at a charity shop to plant it in. The months went on and the little shamrock grew and thrived along side the other members of my green family.

About 3 weeks ago, I noticed a change. The little bugger seemed dull and listless and there were more dead leaves than green ones on the plant. I wondered if the roots were getting a little rotten and so I tried loosening up the soil and adjusting the watering schedule. Even moved it to a new spot hoping that it would find some new mojo.


But by the time I returned from the Netherlands, it was looking very bad for Paddy. If I were a plant doctor, I would be calling in the relatives and asking them to pay their last respects. I put out an appeal on Facebook hoping that someone out there would have an idea as to how to revive a dying plant. What I didn't expect was to get the following response:

Its a sign. Let the bastard die!

Oh, how long and hard I laughed. I never considered these things, but perhaps it is a sign indeed. And so, I've left it alone on the windowsill and will allow it to figure out whether or not it wants to be a part of my life. It has one more week before it gets dumped into the bin and I move on to something else. Gerber daisies or geraniums perhaps?

Walking on Sunshine

After the initial shock of getting that nasty email which led to a really sad sad evening, a night of next to no sleep and a day trip to Amsterdam that had to be cut short due to illness, I got back to Barbie's house and as soon as I could I got online and called my parents in Canada.

An hour or so later, I hung up and felt so much better.

I told them everything. All The Crap from the past 8 months culminating in the email from the day before. For the first time there was no dodging the facts or trying to shield them from the bare bones truth. A lot of it they already knew; had pieced together from the information that I had been giving them and inferred the rest. But it felt good to just get every single thing off my chest. And to cry. Without shame, without reserve.

At the end of it, I was exhausted and my eyes were so swollen they were almost shut. But my heart was light. That night, there was no tossing and turning. From the minute my head hit the pillow to the moment the alarm went off the next morning I had slept the sleep of the dead.

Barbie and I spent the last day of my vacation at the beach. She was scheduled to work that day and had asked the manager if I could tag along. He agreed on the condition that I make myself useful by taking pictures of the day's events. Which basically meant I got to hang around a beach on a beautiful sunny day and play with a fancy camera that I would otherwise get to use only in my dreams.

My flight got in pretty late and exhausted after the long day I tumbled right in to bed.

The alarm had been set for 8:30 am, but I was awake long before that. The sun was streaming in the window and even through my half shut groggy eyes I could tell that it was going to be a spectacular day. Just the perfect day to have an outdoor job. To take people around a fascinating city and tell them stories about amazing people, places and events. I felt like I was on top of the world. The tips were awesome.

Got back to G Town and headed over to meet some friends for a Comedy Night pub quiz. They commented on how I seemed to be on a high and that's exactly what it was. A high. All day long. I cannot stop smiling or laughing (a bit awkward when you're by yourself on the bus back home) and I was literally dancing, not walking down streets.

Logic told me that this was all wrong. That I was supposed to be sad and mopey. The email signified the finality to any hope of any long term relationship that I had hoped for with Beans. And yet, that email had somehow set me free.

It is just 1:00 am. And I should be dead tired after waking up at 7:00 am, going into E City, conducting a 3.5 hr walking tour, returning and going to a night out. But I'm not. I feel that I can do it all over again, right here, right now.

I don't know what's going on. All I know is that for some absurd, magical, wonderful reason I no longer care about Beans and all the mess of the last months. She can have him. He can have her. Ironically, I found out that her name is the same as mine. Bizarre eh? But, I digress. It seems like my brain no longer wants to care about being dumped, being humiliated, being used and abused. It has gone on some sort of vacation from those bad thoughts leaving me instead with the feeling that a wide and wonderful door has opened up beyond which there is a veritable plethora of endless possibilities. Am I mixing my metaphors? I don't care. Never professed to being a writer!

I'm not quite sure if I'm done loving him. I've been trying to wrap my head around my manic feelings for some time now, but with no answers. What I do know, is that finally, I love myself more.

Readers, I feel like I'm walking on sunshine. And DAMN does it feel so good!




**Disclaimer**
No, I am not and have not indulged in any sort of "treat" that Amsterdam is notorious for. Whatever high I'm on, its all self produced! Imagine if I could bottle this and mass produce!

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Perhaps spurred into action by Aunty's choice remarks last week, Beans messaged me at work last Sunday. He knew it was my last shift doing customer service at one of the shopping centres in central G Town. Wanna get some ice cream? went the text.

Being a lovely and totally un G Town like day (i:e bright and sunny and warm), we took our ice creams and headed down to the river for a walk. We settled down on a patch of grass and there in the sunshine, Beans asked me if I'd like to try dating again.

At this point Dear Reader, you need to know some back story. I had thought Beans to be dating someone back in Feb. Turns out, it was A date and that was it. She told me herself, ironically at the next charity event when we met. She hadn't known about me and Beans at all, still doesn't as I kept my mouth shut. Beans and I had been on cordial terms for a long time. Occassionally we would meet up for a movie or dinner or something that sounded like a date, but really wasn't. Yes, there was sex from time to time. Not regular and not often, but sometimes it happened. Please don't judge me, I am merely human.

Bottom line, things were actually quite good between us.

And then he drops this bombshell. I was uncharacteristicly quiet as I considered the question. six months ago, I would have jumped at the chance of a reunion, but now I wasn't so sure. I had finally found myself in a good place; rather a better place than the bog I was struggling in ever since last September. Convinced that the doorway leading to a relationship had been slammed shut forever, I had tried so hard to work on maintaining a semblance of a friendship between us. After all, it wasn't possible to totally cut off ties. We had too many friends in common and our paths were always going to keep crossing socially.

When I gave my answer, it was a guarded one. I did agree to try again, but I also stipulated that if we were going to date, it would have to be something that we both worked on. We would need to try and truly include the other in our lives and yes, the dating would have to be exclusive. Beans agreed to it all.

I met him briefly last Thursday, the evening before I left for my holiday. There dídn't seem to be anything amiss. Then today, I get back from a totally lovely day of sighseeing with my friend, open up my email and find this waiting for me:

Pixy,
As you know, our relationship has been over for quite some time now and has
been purely physical since then. I've really enjoyed the times we've spent alone
together. I'm really sorry, but, on Friday I met someone and I think I've got a
chance to make a go of it. Although I don't want to exclude you from my life, I
don't think its a good idea that we continue the relationship we've been having
until recently. I hope you understand where I'm coming from as I think this is
for the best and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.
Beans.

Reader, HOW could I have let myself get fooled yet again? And dammit.... couldn't he have waited just a few more days so that I would at least have a decent holiday?

*shakes head sadly*

Old Dream. New Plan

There are some places in the world that are universally accepted as "must see" destinations. Among them are Rome, New York, Machu Pichu and.... Paris.

City of Lights. City of Love. City of Dreams.

I used to have very specific ideas about visiting Paris. It was never a destination I wanted to conquer alone; I was going to visit either with the love of my life or an old friend. Either way, with someone who I truly loved and who loved me in return.

Most people want to visit Paris in the summer. Not me. I always dreamed of a winter's vacation. Walking down a snowy street along the Seine. Watching the lights twinkle on the Eiffel Tower in the crisp winter air and drinking hot chocolate while looking out onto a busy Champs Elysee. Most of all, blowing out the candles on my birthday cake while a trio of waiters sang Bon Anniversaire a toi......

Life doesn't always mirror our carefully manicured dreams. I find myself perched on the eve of my much anticipated Paris trip. My travel companion is not my one true love; I am far, very far from that right now. Neither is it an old friend. She is in fact someone I have known for just about a year. We met in Australia and spent 5 days exploring the outback together. We are such opposites, but yet we seem to click.

And I am glad to be sharing this experience with her. Life has dealt us both some harsh blows lately and being in each other's company I hope will help us both to learn from each other, and to help each other with the healing process.

The rules and the players have changed, but the destination remains. One way or another, Paris is going to be a memorable experience. Because we will be there, and we will make it the Paris of our dreams.

Mission Accomplished!

Thanks to the amazing post-shower bouncy hair (all natural, no products) coupled with snazzy and carefully selected knock-em-dead party outfit and topped with great ass-in-jeans syndrome I am happy to report that on Saturday night, I was the very picture of calm and cool at Beans' party.

Of course, this was AFTER I hyperventilated the entire way over to his place and then had to ride the elevator 3 times before I had the nerve to get off on his floor and knock on the door! But hey, no one saw that. Unless the building security folk happen to review the security tapes that is.

Thanks to my master plan of arriving fashionably late, the party was in full swing by the time I got there and I was able to slip in unnoticed. Beans however seemed to think that this was the perfect opportunity to drag me around the room and introduce me to everyone, so unfortunately the second part of my master plan that involved sitting curled up in the corner of the sofa was foiled. Still, I found it in me to make polite conversation and exchange witty banter with the other guests and even be extra charming when introduced to La Mama and Le Petit Frere (first meeting) and Le Grand Frere (second meeting).

For the rest of the evening, I made sure to have at least, but no more than 3 separate conversations with family units - any more and I'd seem needy for approval, any less I might be perceived as stand-offish. There was light chit chat with the pals from work who, thankfully all avoided asking me how things were going and stuck firmly to neutral subjects like the weather. Yes, there was a LOT of discussion about the Glaswegian weather that night.

All except for one girlie who seemed to have missed the memo. I tried to side step her questions about why I moved here and why I picked Glasgow (of all places in the UK) but she wasn't having any of my non committal answers. Finally, as she asked me if I had enjoyed my time here so far, I snapped and answered that other than the fact that I was unemployed in a city where I knew less than 10 people and had a failed relationship to add to that, life was fine. Then, I offered to refill her glass and gracefully exited scene left.

But that was the exception, and largely it was an enjoyable evening. OK, so the large quantities of red wine that Gingersnap kept supplying me with helped a lot! But who amongst us hasn't turned to a glass (or bottle) of liquid courage every now and then? Bottom line, I would like to proclaim Saturday, December 5th as Day of Kick-Ass henceforth to be commemorated with wine and songs.

Can I get an Amen from the congregation?

How to Put on a Brave Face amidst Inner Turmoil

Readers, I am a royal mess right now. Beans' 30th birthday party celebrations are tonight, and I'm all in a dither. To go or not to go; the very worrisome question.

Not going just doesn't seem like an option even. It would be too much like admitting a level of defeat. But if I DO go, then I simply HAVE to shine tonight. Anything less, and it would be another kind of defeat.

To that effect, every single item of clothing I own is strewn around my bedroom in my attempt to put together an outfit for tonight that I'm hoping with be-dazzle the guests and keep them from seeing just how frightening and anxious and nervous I actually am!

The plan is to make a fashionable late entrance, 9:30 -10ish, do the rounds, make polite conversation with all of his friends and co workers (all of whom know EXACTLY who I am), have at least one conversation with his mother and brothers and then make a graceful exit around 1am.

Must run dahlings! A long bubble bath awaits to calm my frazzled nerves.


Update:
Finally have an outfit packed out. Hair under control and looking FAB-u-lous. Ass-in-jeans also fab. (but, of course!)
Grabbing a bite to eat before I head out and flip on the TV. Buffy's on. And its the episode where Anya first makes an appearance. Coincidence? I think NOT!

I am so going to ROCK this party tonight!!!

Two Steps Back. I Think.

Saturday passed in a comfortable haze. The rain pelted down incessantly outside my window causing folks with weekend plans all sorts of minor headaches. Since I had none - plans that is - I was just fine curled up on the couch tapping away on my keyboard filling out application forms.

Gingersnap dropped in on her way out to a party with a whole bunch of DVDs on loan from Colossus. I knew Beans was going to the same party since he'd mentioned it during our phone call on Friday night. So also Ms. McSlutty from last week. My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked Gingersnap about her. The answer was not what I was expecting.

Turns out, she's one of their mutual friends. But she's a McSlutty alright, Gingersnap snorted. She'll flirt with anything that's wearing pants. Anytime. Anywhere. If that's the girl you mentioned Beans was "with" last weekend, then I'd say it was a 99% chance that she initiated what you saw. Probably did her best to keep it going too.

Not quite sure what to make of this revelation, I bid goodbye to Gingersnap who promised to text me from the party should she see a repeat of last weekend. Later, I got a message saying that Beans hadn't shown up and said that he wasn't feeling well. McSlutty on the other hand had found a new couch partner for that night.

Still thinking about G's parting words, I began to question what I had "seen" last weekend. Had I just imagined everything? Taken a simple gesture of an arm around someone and heads bent together in conversation to mean much more than it actually had been? Had I completely misread the situation and had made a mountain of a molehill? I tried to recall the scene. Play it back, take in the details. But it was all fuzzy and I started to give myself a headache with questioning everything.

I turned off my phone and went back to my marathon movie night.

Sunday was almost half over before I surfaced. Thankfully the rain had ceased and the forecast promised overcast skies, but clear. Against my better judgement, I texted Beans and asked if he was doing ok. Not sick. Just tired from the painting. Want to go see a movie? was the reply. We decided on a 3:15 show that afternoon. Almost at once, he called back. Ireland was playing Australia in Rugby and he'd forgotten about that. But if I wanted, I was welcome to come over and watch the game at his place. It actually worked out perfectly, since a) I'd spend way less watching the rugby match than I would at the movies and b) I needed to head into the city centre anyway as I was meeting Gingersnap later.

That afternoon was the best times I've spent with Beans in... well.... forever. He had all these diagrams ready for me to explain the rules and the plays, and painstakingly answered all of my questions - and we all know just how much guys hate talking when watching sports! It was fun. Real fun. Easy, no bull shit, relaxed fun. Something we hadn't had together in a long long time. And it helped that Ireland put on a good show to spectacularly tie the game just 2 seconds before the clock ran down.

He made me dinner, we laughed and chatted some more. As I gathered my things to leave, he asked if he could tag along. Gingersnap and I were meeting at George Square to watch the Christmas lights turned on. It was hardly a private meeting, so I said yes. We met G and Colossus, listened to the music, watched the fireworks, clapped when the lights went on and then ducked past the 100s of families with kiddies towards the Counting House and a pint.

Beans walked me to the bus stand after. The rain that had held off all evening finally started to pitter patter. Neither of us had an umbrella and we drew into the shelter of the store awning. Danielle Steele couldn't have written a better scenario. The bus was ages coming and we were getting increasingly wet. So instead, we walked back to his place and watched the new season of Top Gear. Curled up together on the couch, our wet clothes drying on the radiator.

That night, leaving was not an option. I wish I could say it were, but in honestly, I didn't even once think about it. Staying with him and making love to him was the only thing that felt right.

Had he planned the whole thing? Maybe.
Had he wooed me that evening? Definitely.
Had I just destroyed whatever progress I had made on Friday night? Perhaps.

I don't know what is the right thing and the wrong thing here. I'm flying blind. The only thing I do know, is that Sunday was a great day for me. A relaxing day. A FUN day. I hadn't tried too hard and he hadn't been a jerk. Far from it.

I do know that I could do with more days like that. Rain and all.

What Lies Beneath

Last night I was invited out to a friend's post Hallowe'en party. The theme was Steam Punk fashions, something that I had no clue about. Not wanting to spend anything on an elaborate costume, I dug deep into my very limited wardrobe and came up with:

• One pair of army fatigues
  
• One pink corset
• Matching jewellery

Jellycake was nice enough to help me with doing my makeup and hair for the night; I'm totally miserable at that kind of thing. I cannot even begin to count the number of times I have stabbed myself in the eye while trying to put on eyeliner or mascara. Nothing about a red, watery, twitchy eye is remotely appealing! Under Jellycake's masterful expertise however, the results were much much better and sans any eye piercing drama.

Little did I know just how grateful I would be for a face full of makeup later on when I saw Beans snuggled up on the couch with one of the girls at the party. I wish I could report that I got my own back in the same manner, but I just wasn't up to playing vixen that night. Instead, I took my bottle of vino and crept away to the stairwell where I spent most of the night listening to the sounds of the party knowing that somewhere in there, the love of my life was making small talking with Bambie MacSlutty.

Its a good thing that I listened to Jellycake and had worn the waterproof mascara. I can attest to the fact that it really works.

Comfort and Joy

How do you start to make sense of your life when it seems like all sense has vanished? When everything that you thought was real and true and right no longer is so. When you thought that things could not possibly get worse; and then they did.

Last week, I was wallowing in a deep pool of self pity over a failed relationship and a floundering attempt at self reliance.

This week, I struggle to understand what the tears are about. I don't know what I am crying about any more. Which lost love. A love that I expected to last a lifetime, or one that did.

VBF came over to my apartment last Thursday. I called her after I'd heard the news, and she came over right away. She stayed with me through the afternoon while I tried to call various people in my family to get a clearer sense of what had happened. She got online to find flights to India and find out about getting emergency visas from the consulate in Edinburgh - just in case I'd want to go for the funeral. She made me lunch and made sure I ate at least part of it. She wanted to stay, but I told her I wanted to be alone.

But when she left, the walls felt like they were closing in. My flat mate texted me to say that he would be out late celebrating a colleague who had just successfully defended his thesis. The apartment was empty and cold. Literally cold. I tried to get the heating on, but I couldn't figure it out. I pulled the covers off my bed and sat in the living room, in the growing dark.

And then, I called Beans. I told him what had happened. He told me to come over right away. It wasn't until I got to his place and he opened up his arms to embrace me that I felt something snap inside of me and the tears that I had been holding back all afternoon came flowing.

I cried for what seemed like an eternity; pouring out my inner being. Telling him how I wanted to call my grandparents that morning, but had put it off because I needed to finish filling out a job application. It wasn't even a job that I was particularly interested in, and yet, I had wasted time and perhaps the one last chance to have a conversation with her.

He listened. Made me coffee. Brought out a fresh box of tissues. Made me more coffee. Threw away the coffee and brought me a glass of whisky instead. Listened some more as I poured out story after story about my Nana. Handed me tissues as the tears kept streaming down my cheeks as if a dam in me had exploded and the river of sorrow would never stop.

He drew me close and held me tight. Hugged me. Kissed me. And I kissed him back. Slowly at first, but then more deeply and passionately. And then, before I knew it we were naked and making love with a wild intensity. Which is when I began crying all over again, ashamed for what I was doing and for forgetting even for a mili second.

He held me close and I clung to him and the cycle began all over. We made love that night over and over again. I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up he was still holding me. Something he'd never done before.

But nothing really has changed. He was there for me at a bad time, and that was it. He has called a few times to check on me, to make sure I'm ok. He came by yesterday to try and fix my TV. It was all very cheerful and friendly. Which is after all a good thing. I cannot afford to loose even one friendly face in this city. It is already too bleak.

I wish I could feel badly about what happened that night. But I cannot. It just seemed so right at the time, and perhaps it was exactly what I had been craving the entire day. The reason to feel again and not that deep hurt that had been pressing down on me. Crushing me.

The hurt is still there. For both loves. And I suspect the crying will continue as well. Again, for both. Mourning, is unfortunately a long and tedious process.

Flashback

It hasn't been easy updating the travel blog. Writing about the vacation is forcing me to think about the time that I spent with Beans, to look at all of the happy carefree pictures we took together. They seem so fake somehow, even though I know that is a real smile that I smiled back then.

Every time I upload a batch of pics onto Flickr through some cruel and ironic twist the very first one on the home page would always be the one of the two of us, arms entwined beaming into the camera. On the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, at the Sea of Galilee, at Shutterbug's wedding, on the beach in Haifa.....

On a whim I counted the number of photographs I had of Beans and I. 59. And those were just the ones I found on Flickr, never mind the hosts of others on my PC.

Last weekend, we went to visit Stirling Castle. We spent almost the whole day together, but it was like being with a ghost. I almost wish I had gone alone. Physically he was there; mentally, emotionally he was leagues away.

I went over today to collect some mail that had come to his house and he told me that he was making a trip back to Ireland. A trip that we had talked about back in July; a trip that was to be my introduction to Ireland - and his family.

Guess that's certainly not happening now. Ah well, I have weekend plans anyway. My hair needs washing or the washroom needs cleaning. Either way, I'm sure I'll be occupied.

Defining Commitments

As Beans walked me home from the post game pub on Friday night, we chatted about this that and the other. The evening had been surprising on many fronts; I realised that in time I might actually turn into a real rugby fan. And that perhaps Beans and I had a shot at working out after all.

He came over on Saturday to help me put the apartment in order; putting up the mirror and my photo frames and hooks and the likes. I cooked dinner while he hammered and drilled and did things that handy men do.

The dinner was a success (chicken curry, potato tikkis with mint chutney and rice) and was followed by a movie. Then we had no more excuses. We had to talk.

It wasn't an easy talk. Primarily because Beans just didn't seem keen on the idea. But I had somethings that needed to be said and I needed him to hear some hard truths. Like the fact that he had been a first class jerk over the past few weeks. And the fact that in being a first class jerk had taken me to one of the lowest and most vulnerable points of my life.

I don't know what I wanted. An apology perhaps. Or even an acknowledgement. I got neither. Was this going to be the start of a new chapter of our relationship, or simply the beginning of the end?

The Kindness of Strangers

Four days after Beans decided to drop his little bombshell on me, I'd had enough of the blow hot, blow cold attitude. He'd make an advance towards sharing time with me, then behave as if I was something off the short bus. I love the man (yes, am using the present tense), but there's only so many veiled insults a gal can take.

I was already in the process of looking for a place of my own, but even the quickest turn around would be a week, maybe two. I needed a stop-gap solution or else I was going to totally loose my mind - and whatever little self worth I had left.

I started looking around for short term stays at hostels and at the university residence halls. There just didn't seem to be anything available for the (little) money I had and what I could afford was all sold out. And then, salvation! VBF called to tell me that she called around to some of her pals and one of them had a spare room that I could use for around 2 weeks. Just the ticket! A quick series of calls and texts and voila, I had a confirmation on a place to stay.

I'd like to point out that that I'd met this girl all of 3 times before and she'd just literally opened up her house to me. Talk about the right time to believe in a world of kindness again.

And so, I'm moving in with her on Thursday and boy am I looking forward to it! Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm busting back! Its time for a turnaround.

Time and Space

Is it the Theory of Relativity that is explained along the lines of sitting on a stove for a second can feel like it was an hour and sitting with a loved one for an hour can feel like just a second. Well this past weekend felt like I was in a weird time warp that didn't quite follow all of the necessary rules of time and space.

Like on Saturday morning, when Beans returned from his usual weekend bike ride and cheerfully announced that we would go shopping for the printer ink and paper that I needed. Or when that turned into a lovely walk around Glasgow's city centre followed by lunch on a patio when even the rain held off for a few hours enough for us to enjoy a meal in the sunshine. And then he went further to suggest that we should make the most of the glorious day and take the bus tour around the city so that I could known more about the local sights and sounds. All along the tour, he was the poster boy for charm and wit and by the end we were laughing and joking and having a rather wonderful time.

And so, passed Saturday and Sunday as well. And I couldn't help wondering just what was going on. This was not the man who a few days ago could barely look at me and acknowledge that I was in the room and who categorically stated that he couldn't think of one - not one - thing that two of us had in common in order to keep at our relationship.

Today, I look back at the weekend. Yes, it was a more pleasant experience than being ignored and shunned, but was it real? Not once was there a glimmer of love or even genuine friendship. Not one gentle touch or caress... or even a quick hug. A lovely day around the city does not constitute a relationship. Its the little things that really matter. The little things are now non existent. The little things that I had come to count on, and believe in and look forward to that now were memories of what seemed like a very very distant past.

What are my options now?

I can push away my pride, and let it be known that I want this relationship and that I will do all it takes to turn things around. It will probably mean accepting the blame for the failure and trying to do things differently henceforth all the while hoping that it will change the situation and his feeling for me.

Or, I can call it a day. Admit that I made a mistake and move on. I will have my pride, but little else I suppose. And, I will have to face the reality that all of the reasons for me moving here is no longer valid.

Either way, I end up losing. So, does it really matter what I choose?