Giving Thanks

It is Thanksgiving in Canada. My favourite holiday. It is the one holiday where there is little pressure, people just come together and eat, relax. . . this year my Mom and I fought. It's over now - we all made fun of her gravy - she didn't find it funny - all is right with the world.

One of our family traditions is to go around the table and say what we are thankful for. Since there was a lot of gravy tension during grace, and the turkey was getting cold, I said an all-encompassing one, and we skipped our tradition. But I still have more to say. . .

In thinking about the things for which I am grateful I have had a major epiphany - I am happy with the way my life has turned out, and I don't need to have more kids.

The realization came recently while I was sitting in a park waiting to pick some things up at the printer. There were several families there - and most of the parents were my age or older. Their kids were high maintenance - aka: little assholes. Demanding, inattentive and stubborn - over indulged and undisciplined. It suddenly became very real to me - what it would be like to have more children. I always think about kids as babies, and how amazing it was to have my son, and how this time I would do things better because I would be older, and I would appreciate being a Mom and compensate for mistakes I felt I had made . . . etc. But then I remembered - babies become kids, they all have different personalities, and sometimes it is your fault that they are little assholes, and sometimes they are just the spawn of Satan and there is nothing you can do about it. The reason I am grateful for that day in the park is because when my thoughts about that shifted - everything else did too.

My desperation is gone. I have more options. I can date men that I may not want to marry, that I may not want to have kids with, build a life with or even have meet my parents.

Obviously I then immediately started dating a 22 year old. It has been quite an adventure! I have learned that the younger generation has relationships without ever seeing each other. We have had more conversations on-line than my last live in boyfriend and I ever had in person, we have had phone sex and shared our favourite movies, music and art through youtube and facebook. The computer is burning a hole in my eyeball, but I can't look away - waiting for the next instant message telling me how hot I am.

I had forgotten how wonderful young love can be. It's just like the internet - immediate, passionate, stimulating . . . and fleeting, but a ride that I am grateful to be on if only for a 'hot minute'. I am reminded that even though the men I date who are my own age will very rarely say or do anything that may make them vulnerable - that somewhere in them is an optimistic young man still looking for company, stimulation and a little lovin', and not a whole lot else.

Maybe I even now understand why old men try to date young women. It is not just about the ego, or power, or sex. It is about experiencing the parts of yourself that had gone to sleep. Your ability to freely tell someone what you think of them, and to know they are doing the same.

I like this guy, but I am not kidding myself. I know it won't last. That's ok though. I am going to take the spirit of this love and carry it forward into my next relationship. Who cares if I get lied to, stomped on or taken advantage of by those with as much or more baggage than I have. At least I won't be playing head games with myself (95% of the games people (and by people I mean me) play in relationships occur in our own heads -for every action there is at least 3 hours of preparation and planning - it's exhausting - I don't want to be guessing what a guy thinks, or wants, or who he wants me to be, or when is an appropriate time to text or write or call or show up at his work with a stylist).

ahhhhh - (that was me exhaling) - for all that this 'young love' has done for me in positive ways - it sure has made me aware of how f*&^ed up my behaviour has been with men in the last few years. A Course in Miracles says that 'all that is missing from a relationship is what you are not giving to it' - meaning that since you are the one who experiences feelings when you are with another person - you are the one who feels the pain when you withhold love, and you are the one who feels the most love when you give it, and, in fact, you ONLY really feel anything when you are projecting it onto someone else. When I remember that I no longer need to obsess over what to do, say and be - I just do what feels natural, and let the chips fall where they may. This is what we do when we are young and in love.

Remembering that I am the one choosing to withhold my love and excitement and happiness when I meet someone I like helps me to move toward loving someone with courage. I rarely show my interest in men because I worry that they will think I am just another desperate woman in her 30s looking for someone to stop her clock from ticking. Now that I am over the whole tick tock phenomenon it looks like I may also be ready to release the bondage I have held myself in - to show emotion, to get excited, and to be vulnerable. . . .

and for that, I am TRULY thankful.

A word about being optimistic

I had three weeks in a row where I was soooooo happy.

Now I am writing brooding poetry about storms as a metaphor for love (see my last post).

The good news is that some of my earlier posts were really funny (see posts written last year when I was wandering around London pretending to be in a Jane Austen novel).

Perhaps I am moody because I have to move this week-end. I am moving into a bachelor apartment where I will have a single bed. That's right. This is the equivalent of my not shaving my legs for three months in the hopes that it will stop me from having sex with men I don't like. Not that I have ever done that, but I certainly know a woman who has. I prefer to let the hair protecting my vagina grow - it is much more offensive when the hair grows down your legs than up. . . but I digress.

Which is my point I suppose - that I am digressing. Moving into a tiny tiny place - keeping things simple - but am I going backwards? Perhaps all of you who read my blog (hi again Mom) will encourage me to be optimistic about this special space - that it will be a space just for me. I have chosen homes in the past with entertaining in mind (read - impressing others with my fantastic space and decorating abilities) and now I am choosing a space just for me and my personal grooming devices - it could be really special for us.

But - back to the single bed thing. . . so there's this guy - the one that I tweet about on a regular basis - who I like and who is too self absorbed to bother calling me back unless I send sexually suggestive text messages. I'm pretty sure he doesn't care much but I really like him and keep holding out hope that he will figure out how great I am soon so we can get on with our world take over. It has been a bad week where he is concerned, but usually I can stay optimistic about him and relationships in general by dating several other men (about two per week on a rotating basis) - this week my plan of having many men who somehow together make one whole one backfired . . .

Round 1. The guy I really like and I are talking on the phone. The conversation gets cut off. He does not call back. There is no answer when i call and leave a message. When we do speak again he tells me he didn't call back because he 'didn't even think of it,' and was so busy. Then hung out with his room mate and got high (amazing). As we were talking about that his phone cut off again. I left him a message to call me back which he did -the next day. I have not returned the call as I figure it was obligatory.

Round 2. I called an ex who is a real estate agent to find out what a previous property of mine sold for. He said he would if I would 'hang out' with him. I said cool - come to this art event with me at the Spoke Club. He said he is 'so tired at the end of the day all he feels like doing is hanging out and smoking a joint.' (are we noticing a pattern yet?) Made plans to hang out cause i wanted the information but smartened up at the thought of his assholishness - I did not call him.

Round 3. Met a guy on line - super sweet - had a great phone conversation - he called me at the time he said he would and then texted afterwards to tell me how great our chat was and that he keeps thinking about me and can we meet for a drink on Thursday night. I say yes for 7 PM - I feel OPTIMISTIC. Today is Thursday. I called him, texted him and emailed him. I think maybe he died.

hmmmm - should I go on?

I'd rather not because this blog is about being optimistic.

love storm

languish as long shadows

wait to miss the light

warmth quelled by cooling night air

shiver at signs of warning wind on waves

soon to shake breaker walls

the storm

protects its tender eye

the still earth glimpses that which hides behind the noise

and is touched

together al-one in a movement-less moment

until the water ripples again

They are all Gone With The Wind now . . .

After spending the day beating up on myself for not yet achieving my life's purpose (or even deciding what that may be) I decided to feel guilty for watching Gone With The Wind (maybe my favourite movie/book of all time) and then The Making of Gone With The Wind (GWTW) until 3 AM and also for eating a bag of chips, a bag of pistachios, and for making cookies at 1 AM and eating half of those . . . At the end of The Making of GWTW the narrator started talking about the years when the cast died (Vivian Leigh in 1967 which of course is evidence that I am she re-incarnated because she died before I was born) and I realized that all of the faces in the photos and clips are dead now. It seems obvious since the movie celebrates its 70th anniversary this year, but movie stars seem to be frozen in age when they are in a classic movie like that and it is easy to forget that they don't live forever, look beautiful and still live happy, perfect lives. Vivian Leigh herself was a manic depressive who lost her one true love to another woman and died of TB. GWTW was a massive undertaking. It went over budget (3x the original), went through three directors, and NEVER had a final shooting script. And while all of the work and the drive and the risks they took to make that movie left us with something wonderful and life altering for many - what difference did it really make for those involved? For some - it was a highlight of their lives - for others it contributed to their demise. But in the end - the result for each of them was the same - they all died. Not to be morose or anything, but I mean this as a positive. So many times I have heard people say - 'we could all be dead tomorrow' and I have nodded automatically in agreement with a small pang of disgust at the obvious cliche. But every once in a while, for a moment, it sinks in. Tomorrow may be another day, but my happiness today is all that matters - cause the sun may not come out tomorrow after all.

So - instead of being disappointed in myself yet again for not 'accomplishing anything' this evening I decided - at 2:30 AM - to put my clothes in the dryer, unload and load the dishwasher, and write this blog. Perhaps it is not that I am forgiving myself for my imperfections by taking such action, but trying to make up for them by getting something done. I could say that whatever motivates me is a good thing, but I don't know if that is true. I only seem to work well when I am trying to avoid doing something I feel as though I should do - in this case - going to bed. I have always seen this as a sign of my immaturity. That when I am a full grown-up I will do things because they are good for me, and because I am disciplined, and because I should. Maybe it is time to let go of this way of thinking. . . and start focusing on supporting myself in making choices that make me happy in this moment.

One of the arguments I make with myself against the philosophy of living in the moment is that if I only worry about today's happiness that I will not be able to build anything for tomorrow. . . but sometimes my happiness comes from doing things today that I feel will make my life easier tomorrow - like it did tonight. I know that turing on the dish washer will make my morning a little easier to face, and that makes me feel great. But do I have to feel badly about not doing it yesterday in order to take action today?

I can't tie this blog up with a tidy answer. As I try to re-build my life I tend more and more to shine the spotlight of my unhappiness on my imperfections - and all of the things I haven't done. And I judge and blame myself. I do believe that in order to have the experience of being human we have to experience both positive and negative emotions. I understand how great it is to make sure the dishes are done because I know how shitty it is when I go to make tea in the morning and have no clean mug. . . The thing that causes me pain is not the dirty mug. It is the little voice criticizing me for not keeping the kitchen clean, for staying up all night, and for baking cookies at 1 AM.

Perhaps then the only advice I can offer to myself is not to be afraid of those highs and lows - they are unavoidable - and part of the brilliance of being alive, but to be gentle - not to judge so harshly when the negative occurs, and to give myself permission to enjoy the things that bring me joy in this moment - even if that means putting off until tomorrow that which could have been done today.

After all, tomorrow - is another day!

Coco Chanel never married

I had no idea. I had no idea Chanel completely transformed the way women dressed. I guess I never made the connection between the time period she existed in and the clothing she created. She is officially my new hero.

As for the critiques - I could care less if the story is real or not. She would likely have hated it if it were true! She was constantly re-inventing her life story. And so she should! My story is so different now than it was 5 years ago, and not because 5 years have passed. Telling the same stories about your past will make you dead inside! Your story is yours to do with what you like - if it is static you are likely still stuck in it.

Yet another reason to admire this woman - no designer could be confined to designing only in the medium of their designing!

On the subject of marriage . . . I am amazed that her story could ring so true for me. Either my way of thinking is turn-of-the-century, or things haven't changed a hell of a lot where marriage is concerned. . . are things worse? - at least then it was acceptable to marry for money.

Her discussion with Boy about being married was heartbreaking - but permeated my psyche . . . in fact, it made me weep. Not to say that I believe it is better to be the mistress than the wife - that doesn't give men much credit (I have started doing that - giving them credit - no one likes a bitter-betty) - but her idea that all of your freedom is lost when you become married made me catch my breath.

I think that is what I have always been most afraid of. Not because I would ever marry someone who would ask me not to be myself; because I would just stop being myself - because men become more themselves when they have a good woman behind them, and women become less - or at least that is the story I have been telling myself until now.

Can you blame me though - Cinderella complex and all that. . . let's blame the Brother's Grimm, or the Ancient Greeks who came up with that bullshit to begin with.

I met someone I like.

He is everything I have asked for. So obviously I am terrified. Especially now - now that I am 'unstable' - it would be way too easy to become absorbed by his light - his life - his success.

I have had many opportunities to allow a man to buy me. To step closer to my dreams by fucking men I don't want to. I have played along here and there, but never gone far enough to really see how it ends - or to ask for them to fulfill their promises to me.

The idea that a man can sweep in and take care of me is so captivating. It makes me want to buy a retro KitchenAid mixer.

But, for me, that would be two steps away from prozac.

Which is a big part of the reason I have never accepted offers from my man-saviours. I felt I would be playing a role that was not authentic - but would become consumed by it - like Heath Ledger as the Joker - and end up dying inside.

Strangely - one of the things I actually admired about Chanel in the movie was that she accepted money from men who wanted to help her because they wanted her sexually. That she took advantage of what she was offered and used it to HER advantage in the end - is this the new Cinderella story? Like Pretty Woman? Allowing someone to help her is part of what made her brave . . . this movie is more appealing than Pretty Woman because she ends up ditching the man who saves her (actually he ditches his self - literally) and makes it on her own anyway - she did not lose herself - even when she was giving herself away.

I have had a couple of friends tell me lately that they admire what I have done with my life so far - travelled, started businesses . . . attacked each day with purpose.

Only I have not ever been sure of my purpose - never lived the life in my heart that they all thought I was living - even though I actually was. I have had many dramatic moments when I have discovered my purpose - only to question it again the next day (or try to remember what it was . . .).

And the more I chase the life I want them to see me having - the more unsettled and unaccomplished I feel, and the more I fail to notice the adventure I am already living . . .

Imagine I could be ok with all of it? Ok with the fact that my story will not unfurl with the story arch of a screenplay, ok with not being able to look-back and identify the moment that changed everything, ok with being ok with my decisions - even if they end up not being the "right" ones. Ok with not having to know how this all turns out . . . One of my favourite authors, SARK, calls this Radical Self Acceptance.

The absolute best part of the movie was when Coco says goodbye to Balsan and says "I'm frightened." She wasn't saying that because she wanted him to save her - she said it because it was the truth.

I'm frightened too. In the past two years I have lost my house, my business, my father, and most-recently my job. I am standing on the threshold of a new life. Having fallen down again - each time it gets a little scarier to get back up . . . harder to look my failures in the eye and try to make it work again.

Thank God I have made a habit of doing things I am afraid of. I don't know what the next thing will be, but whatever it will be - it will be mine - and it won't be a fantasy written by me or anyone else. It will be real, but always open to interpretation.

To marry or not to marry

A night out in my home town on Thursday night and I tried to do the usual things in an unusual way.

I went to Ki, the Bay Street (Toronto's Wall Street), after-work hang out to meet a couple of Bay Street working friends.  I must say that the mood on Bay Street was very different from the mood I have experienced in London and New York.  The place was still packed, and people are still spending money.  

So I tried some of my new skills on for size:  looking people in the eye and smiling - even if they are not perfect for me, letting them come to me, keeping my posture relaxed . . . and it was quite easy to meet people (men).  Unfortunately, the first man I met was a bit of a nerd, but in a good way, complimented me on my nails (odd that I liked that, but I did - I think I liked it because it was after I made a really superficial comment about not wanting to go rock-climbing because because it would ruin my nails, and rather than judging me he actually said they were nice), and was married.  I tried to check for a ring several times but he was particularly adept at hiding his left hand so I gave up and ASSUMED that since his friend had no ring, and he was inching closer and closer to me on the bench that he likely was single, AND coming from London - the land of love where the majority of men who approach you are ACTUALLY single, I was a bit naive about his motives. 

So I left with my friend to go and see her man-friend, and it so happened that we were both planning to end up at One in Yorkville afterwards (where I would be meeting another girlfriend) so I said maybe I'll see you?  I didn't have my hopes up, because the new me has very low expectations of the outcomes of such meetings, but I did have an ulterior motive in taking his number and making sure to show up at One.  He and his friends are looking for a singer to compete with them in a Rock Band competition at a Bay Street Bar.  Bay Street and Karaoke is a no-brainer. 

So . . . later that night at One, I walked in and pretended not to notice him and went to the bar to order an $8 rum and coke with $2 flavour from an un-impressed bartender. Everyone around pretended to be absorbed in their conversations while noticing who was there, and who was noticing that they were there.  Oh Toronto how I've missed playing the game of polite condescension. . .

I started to speak with a man who was also waiting for his friend to show up, and then the ring-hiding banker noticed me and got up from his table to talk.  It took me about two hours to finally see the glint of his ring - in a moment when it was not hiding in his pocket, under his glass or hanging at the end of his limp arm behind his chair.  He had been a total gentleman up to that point and was speaking to both my friend and I with equal enthusiasm so I had no  reason not to invite him to Amber with us.  

Amber was actually fun.  It was also full of people there strictly to determine who deserved to be in their company and who did not, BUT the Dj was playing some really fun music so I decided to let loose.  The ring-hider was game for dancing and we all lived it up on the dance floor (he periodically disappeared for stretches where he had long intense conversations with women at the bar and returned with a mitt-full of drinks for us).  

I had attracted a little posse of gay men to dance with me and a couple of potential men that I could meet and was about to make my move towards a sweet-faced Italian (I know - I should know better by now) when the ring-hider decided it was time to get all touchy feely.  I did my best to discourage him by making him do the back-to-back air guitar dance, but it was no good.  I thought about telling him that it was not ok to cock block no matter how much he had given the bouncer to let us in, but I figured I would get the - we're only dancing response and then feel like an asshole.  So, I just continued to dance around him and ignore his 'moves' until he finally decided to leave.  

I obviously have some sort of married guy magnetic energy.  How do I erase this from my energy?  Is it because I want to be married - so I therefore attract the ones who are already?

I am getting pretty close to not wanting to be married - maybe it will change when I finally let go of that idea . . .

Sex-on-the-white-leather-couch belonging to the 19th richest billionaire in India

I left London to return to Ontario and spend a couple of months 'at the cottage' to the north of the great city of Toronto.  I had spent enough time touring castles and watching Pride and Prejudice in England to have satisfactorily decided that I would 'summer' in the country and learn to play the piano forte and embroider in between picnics and grand social events for the months I was forced to be in the country.

Then I realized that there are two major reasons as to why this will not be my experience of the country: A. people here shop at Giant Tiger so there will be no dressing for dinner and B. people work (presumably so they can shop at Giant Tiger) and therefore have no time for frolicking with me.  

The reason I left the loving arms of London in the first place was to participate in the wedding nuptials of a long-time friend.  I waited until the last possible minute to leave - I had to be at a bachelorette party on Saturday night so I left London on Friday - flew Air India.  (A wonderful experience except for the state of the washrooms - airplane washrooms are typically disgusting, but this was exceptional - no soap until I demanded it, and then I was handed a BAR OF SOAP?!?!, and dirty diapers on the floor, lots of wet spots  . . .  you get the idea).  My dear friend told me that we were all to wear sparkly dresses to the party so I showed up in one - umm it was sequined, and I did my hair in a grecian/art deco/late 50s style, but then all the other brides maids showed up in black and the brides dress was 'sparkly', not sequined. Not that I minded standing out, but you are not supposed to upstage the bride in any way shape or form.  I'll be checking with her pre all future events.

I had purchased another dress for the wedding on my last day in London.  It was a jewel blue number, very short and skimpy which was the requirement, but I left it in the Benz of the CEO of an international fashion label after a night out which involved champagne with the 12th richest Billionaire in India, Bongo playing at Annabelle's where there were apparently a lot of footballers (so that is who all the young hot men were! I knew they weren't men of independent means because that would be too good to be true.), and finding excuses for not smooching in public.  

Annabelle's is a very exclusive night club/restaurant in Berkeley Square, frequented by socialites and paparazzi alike (they stand outside obviously) and not a place for wives.  I read on line that the ex wives of members are not allowed in.  I doubt they would want to go anyway.  Most 'exclusive' places are like this . . . extraordinary women with mugly men . . . although there was a higher than average number of attractive men . . . and a somewhat 'competitive' spirit amongst said women.  Although I did have a nice chat with a gal in the bathroom about the state of toilets in the UK.  Why the HELL are they so difficult to flush?  Honestly I need to take a class - if I have to ask my host to come and help me one more time . . . !

The evening was lovely except for the CEO.  He is a great guy, but he is ruining it with his delusions of having me as his mistress.  It is so cliche - I can tell he just wants me as an accessory (HA - he sells accessories!) I know I am fabulous, but his assumptions are just strange - I don't know how else to describe it.  I am not sure what made him assume that I would want him to plant a huge kiss on me when I arrived at our 'business meeting' at the Mayfair bar.  (PS - when I was on my way to the bar I met a fan from Hip Hop Karaoke!  I stopped to ask for directions (for the 4th time!) saying; "let me preface this by saying I am not an American, and could I please have directions to Hobu?" (I was starting to think that all the wrong directions had something to do with  my accent), and this guy said - Hey! aren't you the girl who sang OPP at Hip Hop Karaoke?  To which I replied 'why, yes!', and then he proceeded to launch into a play by play of how I threw down, and, late as I was, I obliged with a short rendition of the chorus . . .). . . but, anyway (also it is not lost on me that the song I sang so eloquently was about Other People's Penises).

 . . . the CEO may have gotten the impression that it was ok for him to touch me because I didn't stop him from holding my hand, or my thigh during dinner (at a great little greek restaurant in God knows where - but the place was apparently full of British celebrities including some McKenna guy whose name I only remember cause it was the last name of my first grade teacher - he is apparently a magician).  I have to say that if I were still in my 20s as I was the last time this happened (Arab Shampoo guy - offered to buy me a Jag and fix my teeth, took me to a $700 a night hotel and I made him sleep on the couch - excuse me - settee), I would have told him I wasn't interested right from the start and move on.  But, now I am wondering if it is possible to make it without compromising your self 'in that way' - I mean, let's face it, I have had sex with men I liked less than this guy for no immediate benefit. . . who may or may not have been married.  The difference? I didn't know they had significant others as I do in this case. I can't say that there is a difference in the degree to which I think I may get something out of it - with the other men I have slept with that I didn't like very much I had made up a fantasy about how great they were in order to be attracted to them for the purpose of . . . potential marriage, children, vip access, concert tickets, a day on a yacht, lunch, a cab ride home . . . of course it was not as obvious to me then, and I did a great job of convincing myself I actually liked the guy(s).  But now I stand here with eyes wide open wondering if I should take the plunge . . . the prize you ask . . . North American Brand Manager for a 30M pound company. . .a job I may not otherwise get even though I am very capable and qualified -  what would you do?

So, back to the country, I escaped from the situation (his wanting to make love on the couch of the 14th richest billionaire in India like 14 year olds) by saying 'I barely know you,' and 'I don't usually mix business with pleasure' and racing out to get a taxi (a 23 pound ride for which he gave me a 20) thus leaving my dress in his car in the process.  

I am mainly upset because I sincerely hope no one finds it in there - not because I don't want him to get caught, but because I will be mortified if anyone thinks I would normally wear a 15 pound dress from a clearance store on Oxford that barely covers my underpants.

He offered to ship it to me - God hope he doesn't open the bag - I didn't take off the tag, and there is another 10 pound dress in there with fake pearls attached - forgive me Anna W.  

Running this scenario by my friends they have all said - don't do it - don't pimp yourself - but I must say that I am tempted to use him the way he wants to use me.  Yes - I deserve to be with someone who loves me for who I am, who treats me like a Queen, who is perfect for me in every way. . . but, let's face it folks, no one is lining up to be with me (ok maybe there are a couple of men in line, but none that I would like to spend my life devoted to) . . . 

Yup, I need some input here people.  The truth is that he doesn't repulse me - he is reasonably attractive (unlike the Arab, whom I affectionately referred to as Ari, who had braid-able eyebrows and a mega-mole with hair extensions - but HEEEE was married), and I am bored.  There is no danger of his falling in love with me - he is way to delusional to be in real love - nor I with him.  I would be able to run things relatively free of his influence as he would be in London and I in New York and I would need to be there only long enough to make a name for myself. . . which should take about a week (JK) . . . and as long as we have a kick ass contract I will be in no danger of financial ruin (no more danger than what I have already done to myself). Plus he wants to take me to his 16000 square foot villa in Mirabella to 'brainstorm' new business ideas.

I'm going to stop going on about this now and hope that one of the 4 people who actually read my blog will respond.  (Not you Mom - I already know what you think) So one of the 3 people. . . and that one of you will tell me to go ahead with it, live the adventure, and get all I can out of the fucker.  Would it be vindication for all of the women everywhere who have been used by men?  Would it be vindication for me?  Or just bad karma?

At the very least it will make for an enjoyable read. . .

The Muse

I have always wanted to be a muse.  Ever since Sharon Stone's movie 'the Muse' I have been consumed (i'm obviously being a bit dramatic) with the idea of having that as an occupation.  The only men who need a muse though seem to be Aquarian.  Not that that has any bearing on anything, just an observation.

I have had two opportunities to be muse to exceptional artists here in London.  One a photographer, and one a poet.  I am not entirely sure you could classify me as a true muse for either, but I like the sound of it, and it will be something for me to hang on to in my old age.  I will have the photographs (and hopefully) the poem to prove it.

May I also say that the men in London (the English ones) fancy themselves to be gentlemen.  Which I adore!  I have never been treated so well by men.  They all still want the same thing, but at least these ones will work for it. ;-)

A few other random thoughts on London...  What is up with the cigarettes people?  Isn't it enough that the tube fills your nose with black soot?  You have to smoke too???  God Almighty at least blow it upwards or stand more than two centimetres outside of the pub to smoke!  (feel better now).

Also - the English have this culture of buying rounds for each other which means that most of the time you don't pay for your drinks.  Unfortunately for me I have stopped drinking more or less (going out every night does not allow me to also drink and be alive at the end of the week). The other good thing about this is that there is not one dude buying your drinks and you obviously aren't going to sleep with all of them!  My point though is that if you are drinking pop or water they get quite upset with you, and, since they can't buy another drink without buying for everyone there - every time there is a new round-buyer someone else gets upset with you for not drinking.  I have actually had three different people on three different occasions tell me that they are NOT buying me a coke.  And they actually don't get me anything.  If you are not going to drink proper alcohol then you are not going to drink at all!!!  I also had someone just buy me a pint even though I said no.  AA has an uphill battle here!!

Lastly I have, as I mentioned, become addicted to twitter. I love knowing what my celebrity friends are doing.  I have also started secretly following my ex boyfriend.  He has quite a following!  And he provides a lot of useless information that keeps me entertained when I am bored (not much different than our relationship really - add a couple of video games and a boomin car stereo and I am living it all over again!).  I must say though that I enjoy that he spends ALL of his time on the computer sending out twits - he clogs my feed!  This is the reason I decided to end our relationship - he had tuned out and was spending all of his time on the computer downloading music.  I wonder what his wife thinks???  Could the relationship be on the rocks?  I don't want them to break up - then I wouldn't have the ex-boyfriend married my child's babysitter anecdote, and I wouldn't be able to claim that it was through me that they met and found happiness.  Secretly, I take pleasure in the thought that they are really perfect for each other, and I think I may be disappointed if it doesn't work out.  I would like it if at least one relationship I know of actually works!

Op there is a bitter taste in my mouth - gonna stop writing now.

Horror scope

Today I awoke to a horoscope in my inbox (at 2PM) with a very interesting opening line.  

Amuseingmay (it knows my name), this day marks the beginning of the rest of your life.  This is a bit horrifying to me really as I walk around in a state of searching for the moments that I will later write are those that marked the beginning of the rest of my life.  My entire existence has been lived to this point in order to mark chapters in my memoir.  And now, my horror scope is telling me that this day is the one that will change my life that will be the day on which the opening line of said memoir is based?!?!  No freakin pressure.

So I have decided to stay in my pyjamas.  Probably not my most forward thinking plan.  Maybe I should get dressed up and go to the Ritz for a drink - where I will lock eyes with a baldy with a penchant for frizzy haired Canadians with crooked teeth.  

I will likely go out tonight - just to feel like I haven't let the (deep foreboding voice) Day I will remember for the rest of my life pass me by.  Otherwise how will I look at myself in the mirror when I wake up tomorrow (afternoon).

I am addicted to T

witter (amuseingmay).  Completely addicted.  I have decided that I now have the following goals in life.

A.  To have more people following me than I am following.

B.  To have celebrities send me shout outs.

C.  To say funny things.

D.  To get an iphone so I can tweet all the time.

Going to make a frozen pizza now and think of funny things to say.

PS - this is a self portrait.  It is by no means meant to be sexually suggestive in any way.

 

Twittering

I've been away for awhile.  Getting myself grounded after the death of my Dad.  Feeling great today!  

I'm in London now and loving it!  I wish I could stay for ever, but have to home to be the maid-of-honour at one of my best friends' weddings.  A month of parties and preparations for a wedding. Craziness.

Wanted to let you know that I am twittering now . . . amuseingmay is my twittername.  I am pretty excited about it.  Can't wait to give anyone who cares a play by play of my crazy life.  Last week alone I had naked photos taken by an incredible photographer (note - not incredible at sex, just at taking photos - I even tried twice - the second time he lasted all of 4 minutes - I blinked and nearly missed the first time - quite disappointing really since he was from Brazil - the stereotypes are not always true!).

Peace out homies.

THE PASSING OF MY FATHER

My Father passed away New Year's Eve at 9:20 PM after a ferocious, year-long battle with cancer. After many inconclusive pathology reports we learned that the aggressive cancer that was attcking his bones originated in his skin. Days of working outside in the sun, riding around in convertables and racing motorcycles with no shirt on caught up with him at the young age of 60.

His final week was a testament to his character and I was lucky enough to be with him in the hospital virtually the entire time. We went in on Christmas eve, spent the night in emerg, and he was admitted on the 25th. The CT scan he had that day revealed that the cancer was in every place it could be except for his vital organs and his brain - the doctor said he had never seen anything like it. I believe it was his will to be sure that those he left behind would be ok that kept the cancer at bay.

He knew it wouldn't be long, but insisted on getting his affairs in order while in the hospital. Each time we crossed an item off the list he let go a little more, and began admitting he was feeling pain. He took very little pain medication so he could be lucid for all of our discussions. There was even one time when I came in from being in the family room (a great space in the palliative care wing for families to rest) and he handed me a pill wrapped in a kleenex;

"Here . . . hide this"

"What is it?" I said.

"It's an oxy (his pain medication). The nurse wanted me to take it, but I'm on to her. It's hard to say no to her with her big eyes and pushy face so I pretended to take it."

I told him he was in charge of his pain medication, but he still made me hide it at the bottom of the garbage.

He wanted so much to be lucid, and was so proud of the sobriety that he had held for 18 years that he really didn't want it to be a big part of the end of his life.

Right until the final day he was working out all of these methods of still maintaining control over his body. The cancer had obliterated the bones in his left hip and he had no control over that leg, but he insisted on getting up to go to the bathroom and sitting up to eat what little he was able to. He found joy in every thing he could. Every time he rubbed an ice chip on his lips he expressed what a beautiful feeling it was. He was so grateful for every thing every nurse did for him, and, if he asked them for anything at all it was always 'when you have time . . .'

On the day he passed I had left to shower and change at a friend's house and had told him I would be back by 9 PM.

The nurse attending to him, Sandy, called me in at 8:30 PM. When I arrived she said that while she was helping him his eyes rolled back in his head 'like he was going,' she said. She called him, ". . .Bob?" and he came back, looked at her and said:

"It's time for me to go now."

She asked him if he was afraid.

He said 'no', and grinned from ear to ear.

She asked him if he would wait for us (my Dad's girlfriend Joan who was downstairs at the time and I) to come back, and he said 'yes'.

My Dad had told me that the last feeling he wanted to feel was me stroking his hair as he passed. When I arrived I sat beside him and alternated wiping his brow with a cold cloth and stroking his hair with my hand. I told him it was ok to let go, and that I loved him. He kept saying 'ok, ok, ok, it's ok' until the spaces between his breaths lengthened and he no longer spoke. He turned his face toward mine and I leaned on the bed with my face next to his. I held his forehead and his hand and, as he took his last breath, I saw a tear run along his right cheek.

I hope with all of my heart that it was a tear of joy.

I have been overwhelmed by the messages, calls and flowers from so many of my friends and family. Especially from those I have known in past lives - people who don't have to take that moment to send a message, but they do, even when you don't know what to say. Thank you hardly does justice to the gratitude I feel to all of them.

When my son came to the hospital to say good bye to him my Dad said two things:

I had mentioned that I always seem to have a friend who works in the area that we need help in and my Dad said:

"I'm going to take full credit for teaching you that. Your network is everything. Cultivate your network." He said looking directly at his grandson. "That means take the time to have a coffee with someone for no reason."

Then when they were saying good bye he said to him:

"Take care of these girls (meaning myself and my Mom who was there too), if you take care of the women in your life you will never want for anything."

Through his illness he realised how much women do to care for each other and those they love and he mentioned it to me frequently. He had all the nurses doting on him right till the end (he was also trying to sell them the furniture he made, but that's another story).

One of the many things that this experience has taught me is that when you show someone that you care - you are giving the ONLY gift that matters; the gift of yourself, your time, and your love.

blocking

I watched Sex and the City the Movie tonight with my Mom. It was great to see it again. I was embarrassed at how much I wanted to cry (just like the first time). Normally I don't mind crying in front of my Mom, but I didn't want her to know how much their lives are like mine, and how afraid I am of not finding love.

I emailed the Skinny Italian who Broke my Heart yesterday after about a week of not contacting him. It is easier now for me not to do that. I still fantasize every day about being with him and having a family.

I sent him a clip from the movie across the universe. It was the song I Want to Hold Your Hand. I love the way the girl sings it. He responded by saying how sweet it was and that everything I say to him manages to pull at his heart. My first response? Don't trust him.

Brutal.

So I got to thinking about this nice guy I met while in New York last week end. He was from Brazil, cute, moving to Barcelona to do his Masters, well travelled, good dancer. He left early and took my card, but hasn't called. While he was there we were dancing and I was playing hard to get by not making much eye contact. Why the fuck do I do that? Why don't I just do what I really feel? Why be so bloody guarded? I am really sick of myself for that. I used to explain it as years of not wanting to be approached by men who I didn't want to have to say no to cause I am not very good at it.

Now I have no excuse. I am alone and tired of it.

I am my own cock blocker.

I almost erased all of that, but no one reads this anyway so I'll leave it.

Al Pacino is Italian

Today I spoke with all of the men in my love life. Three of whom I will mention - the other three I will not. Woah. 6?! Yikes. Ok three are on other continents but really! I have only slept with 4 of them - does that make it any better?

The Skinny Italian who Broke my Heart is still on my msn list and I am still ridiculously in love with him. He still calls me goupa and sends me besos and asks me when I am coming to live in Barcelona. I told him I will go there in February to try it for a couple of weeks. Maybe I should go when he is not there so I can meet the Latin Lover man without worrying about him turning out to be really embarrassing or something.

I spoke with the Latin Lover Man and gave him a piece of my mind about his ditching me. He said his cousin walked in and he had to go. He is staying with his family in Venezuela at the moment. For some reason I was in an aggressive mood and asked him if he has met any rich women on millionaire match yet. He said he is not there for money - only to find a special girl. I asked if he had yet and he said yes - you! Is it wrong for me to be really cynical about this guy? He has naked photos of his abs with only a fan covering his ben johnson. (A big fan mind you). Obviously he is a little hot under the collar. I think he may be a (cyber) sex addict.

He said he was really hot and horny at that moment. I asked him if this is normal for him. He said it was because of me. I find that really hard to believe as well. (Although if he were a fan of naked shower dances under the blue light of the laptop screen then I would be more inclined to believe him).

I just had a thought though. What is the point in being negative about him or cynical. No harm no foul. He is a nice guy, we have fun on-line together. I would like to meet him to dance the salsa and make the skinny italian who broke my heart jealous while frolicking in the waves in Barcelona. . . If the Latin Lover Man is not serious about me then that is a good thing. I certainly wouldn't want to hurt his feelings.

Anyway. The skinny Italian who broke my heart (I realize I keep capitalizing his name differently - it is because I am at odds with how much of his 'title' deserves to be capitalized and some times I punish him by using all small letters) was speaking with me on msn and told me he loves the new Kanye song - love lockdown. He said he doesn't understand what it means in English so I transcribed it as we listened to it together (awwww). I typed the following:

I'm not lovin you
way I wanted to
I got somethin to lose
so I gotta move
I can't keep myself
and still keep you too

you lose

See I had to go
see i had to move
we're just wastin time
where's the finish line

keep your love locked down - you lose

only God knows
if I'll be with you
baby I'm confused
you choose

I started to sweat as I typed. I chose the words as I heard them - for the first time I listened to the lyrics. It was just what I felt we are doing. Locking the love away because it seems easier. But we lose.

So he said - why is he not loving her the way he wants?
I said - he is stupid
he said - oh ok :-)

I wonder if he got it. Then I said - actually he is afraid.
He changed the subject to tell me he was listening to Lauren Hill sing turn your lights down low and it is one of his favourite songs.

That is a song we sang in the van when I visited him in Barcelona. I am surely reading too much into all of this. He is usually very blunt when he wants to talk about his feelings. He has been very blunt in telling me that he doesn't want a relationship and that he doesn't feel 'a strong passion or a need' to see me. Awesome eh?

So I decided to make all kinds of excuses for him instead of getting the hint. I am so ridiculously in love. Also - not so good at not getting what I want. One of the six I mentioned earlier I have been chasing for three years, and just made it happen this week. I could have had it happen earlier, but not the way I wanted it. Now I just want him for sex. Am I a guy? Let me clarify that 'just want him for sex' part. I want to have sex with him as opposed to anyone else because we are good friends, will never have a conventional relationship, and we care for each other. Less chance of getting hurt than a regular booty call, but more freedom to be emotionally intimate. I know - I am asking for it. Luckily I leave the country every 6 weeks or so so I can't get too attached to anyone. (Ya I know everyone says that is why I am single . . . blah blah blah - I say - keep up with me, or give me a reason to stay still!)

Today after we (the skinny italian who broke my heart and I) spoke I felt so happy. Even though nothing transpired except his little pet names for me. He said WE should learn Spanish (before I told him I just wanted to be friends WE were learning Italian - meaning he was teaching me). I told him I have two friends here who are teaching me Spanish. One in Toronto (my awesome friend Pedro) and one in Venezuela (My Latin Lover Man of course) I should have said he was from Spain. I was tentatively dropping the hint and showing that I don't need him anymore.

I wish he was jealous.

I need to go back to what I learned during my month without men . . . the magic words that work with every guy. Ok. Cool. Those of you reading that blog haven't gotten to that part yet, but you will. I am seriously not together enough with this guy to use those words. When could I have used them??? hmmm. Everytime he has hurt my feelings I guess. Instead I have chosen to tell him he is wrong when he says he doesn't feel a passion to see me. I am certifiable - honestly.

The good news in all of this though is that at least I know why I like him so much. I saw some old photos of my Dad (he and I have been going through his personal papers) and there is something in his face that instantly reminded me of -- woops - I almost typed his name in here . . . tut tut tut - the Skinny Italian who broke my heart. I love him because I love my father. His body language reminds me of my father's body language. My father loved Al Pacino and emulated his body language. Al Pacino is Italian. All Italians emulate Al Pacino. done.

I can now move on with my life.

There is one more major conclusion I had after speaking with him that trumps everything though. I decided that feeling happy after I spoke with him was worth all of it. All of the obsessing and dreaming and worrying and stalking. (He totally busted me stalking him on facebook). Nothing beats that high, and even if it is all make-believe, and if coming down will hurt more than anything I would much rather take the ride. I may never have the chance again.

Latin Lover-Man

I have been getting to know the Latin Man whom I will be using to make the Skinny Italian who Broke My Heart jealous. Apparently on the dating site that we met on (Millionaire Match) I had posted a blog that made a brief mention of cyber sex. It had said something like OK, cyber sex aside, has anyone found that they have any ligitimate chemistry with anyone on line? So he came on msn asking me if I have cyber sex, and what is it like. I am pretty sure he is full of shit, and that he has had many different types of sex but I thought what the hell. So he asked me if we could try it, and it just so happened that I needed to have a shower so I invited him to join me.

I got everything all set up in the shower - luckily my shower is big so the camera wouldn't get wet, and I can see through the glass to the computer to set up the shot. I was a little nervous about him seeing me naked for the first time so I turned the light off. The light from the computer cast a beautiful blue glow on my skin and it was really pretty. I was enjoying the artistic display, moving around in a beautiful, naked dance, but he wrote: Is Dark. I want see your pussy open. Do you have toy?

So much for artistic expression. He put the camera on his self pleasuring but that really didn't do much for me. I can't think of how I would actually get off on watching him. Maybe if I could see his face it would be better? He can't really type anything except for oooo yaaaaa I suppose I could tell him to type in spanish . . .

Now this is becoming a bit of a regular thing. At least it was for two days in a row. He says he likes me AND my pussy so that makes me feel really really special.

There are some bad parts to this - besides the fact that I am basically putting on a show for him (which I am sure will end up on his website or something and I will see no royalites what so ever), is that he takes off right after. He says something like I can't wait to see you in person and then signs off and dissapears. Sort of like the guy who jumps in the shower and takes off in real life and says "I'll call you." Jeeze even my on-line relationships are dysfunctional!

I guess that is what you get when you use someone for the purpose of making someone else jealous. They use you right back.

Regrets

For some reason I woke up this morning feeling as though I had some regrets. Perhaps it was initiated by the dream I was having. I was being approached by a salesman to sell bags to teen aged girls. Wait a minute, I asked him, "did you say bags? I have an idea for bags." I actually do have a bag I have designed in real life that I would like to see sold. Then my Mom showed up and started giving the guy a hard time. He insisted we meet his boss. I went into the board room and tried to sit in a power seat, but all of the empty seats were suddenly filled with wives and children for these men (one seat just had a pair of eyes in it). Clearly that was about all of the men I meet who have women in their lives. I ended up sitting at the end of the table in the corner (not a power seat at all) and the woman beside me started to spread some nasty cheese spread on a cracker and then put icing on top. It was my understanding that this was actually what they wanted me to sell, and I got excited because I knew something that would help them to not be so fat and unhealthy (the women were all over weight and the men were all in great shape). I have learned so much about diet from the anti-cancer book I have been reading and would love to promote products that are good for you. I was really looking forward to finding out what was going to happen (what are the distribution channels for these bags, and this sandwich meat sitting in front of me), but then Pam banged on the window of my room and woke me up. I ignored her, but couldn't get back to the dream.

So I started thinking about business, and how much I love it. In the dream the sales man was telling me not to throw it all away. That I really had something here. I think I know that I really have something here. I just don't understand why I don't want to do it anymore. Is it because life to me is about more than just success and that I want to be really fulfilled in my career? OR is it just the disappointment for not having achieved all I wanted to in that business that makes me want to walk away. Let's be honest. I lost my love for the industry a couple of years ago. I have had one foot out the door for some time now.

The only thing that would keep me in the business is a fear of not being able to find or start anything as 'great' in the future. I know I will, and I won't make my decisions based on fear. Love only.

Yesterday I was cleaning out my room and finally found the tape of my last psychic reading. I had asked her about relationships and marriage. She said that she saw me married in the next two or three years with another house in Toronto. She said that all of the stuff I have been going through is just karma. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Perhaps I was a man castrator in medieval times? She said that my life is just beginning. That certainly feels true. I am just getting started. The biggest thing she said is that I have to know exactly what I want before I go into any negotiations regarding selling my business or getting another job or whatever.

She also said that my business is rock solid -- considering I am going bankrupt . . . perhaps I should discard everything else as well. . . but that also got me thinking. My business WAS rock solid. I could have saved it. I chose not to and let it go. I don't regret that now. I hope I never do. In the meantime I am back to writing again.

So what are my regrets then? I don't usually think about regrets because I feel that everything happens according to divine timing. I try to keep trust that God will let me know where and when as long as I listen to my intuition. Right now my intuition is telling me to go back to sleep.

Letting Go

After the drama of yesterday I am happy to say today was a great day.

My Mom showed up this morning to pick me up and take me to her place so she could save me from myself. I didn't go with her, but when she got here I started to pack which was great because I was having a hard time getting motivated. Even though it is childish I still feel like I need her to prove to me that I am a priority every once and awhile.

After she left a friend came over. He is a fellow writer and I feel very comfortable being creative with him. We discussed some creative things, and we laughed a lot. Laughter is so healing!

I was thinking yesterday in the depths of my despair that the times in my life when I am most creative are those times when I am also the most depressed. I turn to my creative outlets to relieve my pain. Maybe one of the reasons why all of this is happening at once is in order to be a catalyst for my 'art.' If that is the case then I am ok with the suffering.

Thank you so much God for the gift of this outlet. I have been looking forward to blogging all day. Now that I am here I don't have much to say, but I'm ok with that too.

Break-It-Down

Today I had one of those days.

I have only had these days a few times in my life. I have always had a tendency to be dramatic, but for many years now I have been able to laugh off my inclinations to make a scene. Today was different.

I am in a pretty major grieving process right now. Planning to move to Europe, let go of my business for the most part, leaving my house (not so important, but moving and selling your furniture involves letting go), and, oh ya, my Dad is dying.

Today he has an appointment to asses if he should now have chemo after two surgeries, and two bouts of radiation. Luckily the doctors at Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto are incredible and want him to have as much quality of life as possible. Before I went on my last trip (14 days in the UK - been home for 4), I asked the doctor how long he has to live. It has taken me a few months to get up the courage to ask that question. They told me he has months, not years.

My Dad had not asked the question, but when I came back from the UK he started to tell me that he found another lump on his neck and was trying to break it to me gently that this may be worse than we thought. I feel like I have been a bit ahead of him in terms of accepting what is coming. I can't imagine what it must be like for him. He said to me then that he knows he is dying, it is just a matter of when.

I told him then that I had asked the question he wanted to know. The 'how long do I have to live' question. He said he was ready to hear the answer, but we were in the hospital lobby and it wasn't an appropriate time for the conversation. That was on Friday.

Today we had the conversation while waiting for the doctor to come and see us. He said he was feeling a bit depressed and really wanted to know so I told him just what they told me. He said well if we are only thinking short term then what is the point of having chemo at all.

My response was - well it is up to you what you want to invest your energy into. Up until now you have been putting your faith in the medical system and it has taken you this far. If you decide you will live another 6 years on an anti-cancer diet then you will. If you decide you will live till spring so be it. It is just up to you if you want to live in this body with this pain.

So all that was challenging. I asked the doctor while I was there if he thought the mark on my face was skin cancer (I have a spot on my face that has been there a while) and he referred me to a dermatologist. I wanted him to refer me to a psychologist cause today was a bad day.

After my Dad left I went into the chapel in the hospital. I really wanted to crawl under a chair and cry there for a long time. The chapel is open 24 hours (if I am ever homeless I will know where to go - I bet every hospital has one!). The Muslims kept coming in to do their sunset prayers though so it was hard to blubber as I wanted to. I sat there for about an hour and cried into my kleenex - then I left and came home.

At home I sent some emails for work and then cried some more. Then I had a peanut butter sandwich. Then my tenant downstairs pushed me over the edge of sanity into a near nervous breakdown state, and the day officially became bad.

Pam is a 72 year old actress. She was a hippy in the 60's and was experimented on by psychiatrists with LSD. She is a huge pain in the ass. She invited me downstairs for dinner and gave me half of a rent cheque. Then she proceeded to go on about all of the things that are unsafe about the house. Then she asked me 'what do you think you have learned from this situation' and do you think you will ever purchase a home again. I told her I wasn't interested in discussing that and that I am capable of judging myself enough for this situation and don't need to go over it again with her. Then I said thank you for the food, got up from the table and started to scream, threw the rent cheque on the floor, slammed the door open, screamed in the back yard, slammed the upstairs door open, then slammed it shut and went to the third floor where I lay down on the floor and cried. Luckily I live in Parkdale and this is acceptable behaviour for this neighbourhood so the police did not come.

Then I called my Mom and told her that it is unacceptable that she is not calling me or coming to help me because I can not do this on my own. I am overwhelmed. I felt that I couldn't get up off the floor. She was telling me about how everyone is depending on her for her business because she is the only licensed driver. That they have to get these jobs done before the weather sets in, that they need to finish them to get paid, blah blah blah. I said that I don't think they have learned anything. My step father has had 3 or 4 heart attacks in the past year. My Dad is reaching for every moment he can have with me because he doesn't have many moments left. Yet my Mom's priority is still money. I really believe this society is sick. I believe that the cancer and heart attack epidemics come from a lack of joy and love and family and laughter. So I lay on the floor covered in tears and snot judging my Mom for not having the right priorities and being happy.

I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. I'm ok. I have faith that this is about making room in my life for more love. I will not spend the rest of my life in the pursuit of something that will not love me back. And I will do my best not to judge my Mom or anyone else for their priorities.

I am off the floor now and writing on my computer. It is the first thing I thought of to do when I got my wits about me. Thank God for my computer and my invisible audience.

So my nervous breakdown was just a little one. I apologized to Pam even though I am still angry with her and her condescension. It is not worth my energy though. I am not going to change her. Now she has another story for her wine o monologues.

On the plus side - after breaking up with Stefano (who will now be referred to as 'the skinny Italian who broke my heart') I decided to start getting serious about finding a husband and go all out on-line. I have smiled at, poked, winked at and messaged about 70 guys in the last four days. One quickly responded from a site called millionairematch.com . He is 32 from Venezuela and currently living in Spain.

His profile reads as follows: i am very sesitive man, i like very mouch dance salsa.

He sounds like the perfect man for me.

He barely speaks English, lives in Spain where he teaches Salsa full time, umm and he has several photos of himself on facebook with no shirt on, in some of them he is exiting the water and covered in little drops, in one of them he has a fan in front of his penis. He has offered to help me get settled in Barcelona, did I mention that I have decided to move there now that the skinny Italian who broke my heart is no longer in the picture? Ok - so he is still in the picture, but now the picture looks like this:

I go to Barcelona in February to start looking for an apartment and to meet some more people in the dance community. My new Latin lover comes to 'help me get settled' and I bring him out to meet the skinny Italian who broke my heart (who is still my friend) and his posse at the beach or some other place where my new Latin lover can take off most of his clothing. The skinny Italian becomes jealous. I have Latin love.

My Latin lover (who's name ends in the letter O not by coincidence I am guessing) and I spoke on msn last night with a webcam. He had no shirt on. He confessed that he is not rich but is looking for a woman with whom he can start a family. I don't know if I want to have his children, but we can certainly practice making some. . .

Now those with whom I have been friends for some time would warn me against this situation as it is not the first time I have fallen for a man with much meat and little else. I once dated a Cuban man who's naked photos are somewhere on the Internet (they should be on a greeting card). He would say things to me like 'Iiii am a shark and jou are a but-ter-fly and ve can nevah have a relationship. The shark will destroy the butterfly.' He would say this as he attempted to escape from my apartment while I crawled after him begging for round three. Yes it was pathetic. Thank goodness he went back to his girlfriend. It would never have worked out. He shoveled pigs in a meat freezer for God's sake, (but I may have married him anyway) this is why I can never go to Cuba (or Jamaica, or Brazil . . .)

My Latin lover is looking for a sugar mama and I am looking to make the skinny Italian who broke my heart jealous. I am also looking for a distraction from the heaviness of my life at the moment. So I will continue to poke, flirt, smile and IM for the time being. . . . and practice my Salsa.

To dream

In celebration of my first blog (well not my first really, but my first un-edited one) I had a bowl of soup, some apple juice, about 25 olives and some dark chocolate (80% cacao) from Peru. This is my idea of cooking. It is also all I could afford at the moment when I decided to stop at the grocery store. I have been living only on cash for the past 2.5 months - ever since I decided to declare bankruptcy. Not that I don't have money now - in fact, I have more money now than I ever have! I just only had $10 in cash when I went to the store. It is amazing how long your money will stick around if you don't have constant access to it. Not using debit or credit cards has curbed my spending enormously. Also - the stress and shame of declaring bankruptcy has me doing a very good job of managing my money. Let me clarify though that I don't think the bankruptcy is the stressful or shameful part. It was the part leading up to deciding to declare that was stressful and shameful. Now I feel an enormous load off, and a tremendous sense of completion.

I suppose you are wondering how I got to this point. Or, if you aren't you are busy assuming that I ran up my credit cards and couldn't afford to pay them off. It is much more exciting than that I promise. It involves taking pretty decent sized business risks by manufacturing in China and diversifying my business to involve real estate when I didn't have the cash flow to support that kind of expansion.

The money management system I am using is amazing. I always feel like there is so much. There is money for everything. The hard part is being disciplined enough to stick to it. Here is what I do: 40% necessities, 10% debt repayment(event though I have declared there are still people I would like to some day pay back), 10% fun, 10% financial freedom (towards things that will create passive income for me), 5% personal grooming and clothing (a girl needs money for shoes), 5% giving, 10% long term savings, 10% towards future business. I use only cash and don't spend the money unless I have it.

This is really not what I had intended to write about today. I do hope you will forgive me for using this space as a platform for some verbal diarrhea from time to time. So much of the rest of my life is censored - I really just need a place to let go (but want to do it in the public sphere for some odd reason). I journal - have been for years, but this is different. I am really looking forward to telling you my stories. I am happy that it is anonymous - not because I want to bash people, but because I don't want to put myself at risk for being bashed, AND mainly - I don't want anything I say to hurt anyone I love.

When I was about 15 I read my father's journal and it really hurt my feelings. We write what we feel in the moment. Not necessarily what we will continue to feel.

I just had a huge sneeze - best I have ever had! It must be the chocolate! Did you know that the chemical that is released in your body when you eat chocolate is the same one released when you have an orgasm? It is also the same chemical released when breast feeding, and when you sneeze. I always sneeze when I am horny. I also always have to take a shit when I go into a book store. Just thought I would throw that in there. I am going to have another square of chocolate.

I am going to go and explore this site now. Be well!