The good times are killing me

Third week in, and SF#1 and Sexy Guy are getting on like a house on fire.
Remember the initial stages of falling in love? Noticing that your heart is not just an organ pumping blood obeying the autonomic nervous system, but an independent biological entity, hurting, running at an unsustainable speed or going on strike in the presence of the object of your desire? The disappearance of the world around you, all crystallized in one person whose eyes are all that is left in your field of vision? The impossibility of spending more than fourty-five minutes without hearing their voice/writing a message/touching them? Hours passing by while in each other's arms, whispering fantasies, acting fantasies? 'You' becoming 'I'?

I know I should be happy.. But.. I am not sure, I am not convinced. There is something wrong; something is off key. Maybe I am the Thanatos to her Eros, the intertwined essences of Love and Death, the terror the grasps us when truly happy, the fear of losing all when we have it all. But, hey, what do I know, I am an EI, right?

Of course SF#1, being an over-controlling life planner, has already ordered new monogrammed hand towels with his initials. I am crossing all appendices, pseudopods, fingers and toes.. This time, if she falls, she is going to fall hard. Gigatons hard.

Heroes

Today I had one relaxing afternoon. A proper treat in a fabulous spa. It was all going so well, until, while chilling out in the relaxation area, I found myself sitting next to this glamazon popped out of nowhere. Now, it is bad enough to end up anywhere near a woman whose legs are as high as your ears (and I had that experience when sharing an open plan changing room with a lingerie model/WAG), but when you just had a facial, are wearing an incredibly unflattering bathrobe, glasses and a ponytail.. well, you just want to disappear as fast as possible. Because, you see, despite all of the above (except the glasses), she looked absolutely amazing. I looked rubbish. I mean, let's face it, I will never look effortlessly perfect. Will never command a room with my presence (mini-me?) or capture all eyes as I enter a restaurant (unless of course I plummet down on the floor face first). My life soundtrack is not a sexy R&B, an energetic R'n'R or smooth jazz; it is more something like 'ouch, ohi, ahi', as I hurt myself or fall off my heels. Basically, I will never be cool. All I can go for is 'kind of cute'.

When I was a little geeky kid, my favourite character was Athena, the heroic goddess of knowledge (and could never figure out why Paris picked Aphrodite). And even to this day my female icons, the ladies I aspire to, who inspire me, are all fairly weird ('family' and 'friends' categories excluded). These days, I look up a lot to Tina Fey and Miranda Hart (clumsy, messy, funny). When feeling tres chic, then I think of Catherine Deneuve (not very odd, except hardly a spring chicken). At the top of my game, I am Diane Keaton. If musical, it is PJ Harvey, or, on an exceptional day, Debbie Harry. When writing, I am inspired by Simone de Beauvoir, Virginia Woolf, Christa Wolf, and many other wonderful artists. I am sure this post will be updated numerous times, as I remember somebody else, as I feel in a different mood.

The scary thing though.. isn't it a male prerogative to put together lists? And isn't this happening to me a bit too often?

Going back to where we started, I will never be Samantha Jones.. Liz Lemon.. yes, more likely.

Just lust

Single Friend #2 has a lot of interesting ideas these days.

We were out for dinner with Married Friend #2 who, completely out of character, dropped the 'perfect woman' mask and confessed some marital problems.

After several years with her husband, the passion is quieting down. Actually, everything seems to be going south in her relationship. Both of them are very successful high-achievers, with full-time careers, very demanding jobs, a busy social life and several extracurricular interests. Their calendars are a nightmare to infiltrate, and even a coffee has to be booked months in advance. Apparently this is not always a good thing. They have no time for each other, often go on holiday separately and, since he travels a lot, months go by without sharing a bed.

Worryingly, Married Friend #2 is giving signs of distance, disappointment and disinterest (and down went another glass of wine).

While I looked at her like a rabbit in the headlights, SF#2 sprang immediately into friendly action and presented a solution, pronto. Sex. Everyday. Even if busy, tired, can't be bothered, don't fancy it. As a medicine. When and where to be arranged on the spot, but no excuses, it has to be done.

Woah! Everyday? Married Friend #2 looked quite.. overwhelmed at the idea.

Apparently, there is a scientific base to this. Oxytocin, one of the hormones released during sex, has been recently shown to also have links to social behaviours, such as trust, bonding and release of anxiety. Sure, you can buy it over the Internet, but somehow I don't think it would work as well.. and you may want to make sure that the first person you see after administration is actually your partner...

So, we grabbed Married Friend #2's BlackBerry and added a daily 'Sex with your husband' as a locked recurrent appointment that cannot be deleted. We shall see.. or maybe not, we don't need to see.. just the results of the experiment will be fine..

Reasons to be cheerful

One late night, English Rose, Male Friend #2 and I ended up listing the things in life that make us happy.
There were some commonalities (although, by definition, English Rose was quite judicious and contained) and some surprises.
I am not sure I remember them all, but here are some of mine (in no particular order):
- freedom
- The Man smiling as soon as he opens his eyes first thing in the morning
- Best Friend
- my mum being healthy and super strong

- Married Friend #1's surprise email saying that she loves me
- my team taking the lead and making me feel redundant
- Single Friend #2 holding my hand in a taxi because I am upset
- my niece and my friends' children- The Cat- strangers offering their seat on the underground
- pizza
- walking on the Heath on my own

- fresh bed linens

- a well executed job

- adverts at the cinema
- Annie Hall
- Chanel
- staring at the sea
- BlackBerry instant messenger
- crossing London Bridge with Male Friend #1 after a long day at work- a funny joke
- aubergine parmigiana
- silly dances in the kitchen
- sleeping for more than four hours
- breakfast in bed
- Capri

- 30 Rock
- making silly lists with Male Friend #2 and English Rose.

Kids

Something has suddenly happened without me noticing. Male Friend #1 has all grown up, leaving me behind in the playground on my own. Have your parents ever been late picking you up from school, and you were the only kid left at the gate, staring at the road, waiting for their car to appear? That's how it feels. I suppose there is a time when some of us decide to settle down and become adults. You know, the whole 'stop fooling around/land a proper job/get married/buy a house/have children/get a dog' thing.
But.. I miss my partner in crime! As Male Friend #2 said, I am a bit of a child (what's wrong with wearing a paper chef hat while colouring at a lobster shack in Disney World?), and this growing up business doesn't seem that much fun. Yes, yes, responsibilities, I know. I've got plenty, believe me, but, still, how do you become a fully-fledged grown up? Who tells you this is your job for life, your career, your future? When is it the right time to stop playing and do it for real?

Which reminds me of the MGMT concert I went to this week. First of all, because their childish/innocent style that works so well on the album did not translate live. They were actually quite bad. Voice cracking a couple of times, monotonous and unimaginative drumming, dull sound. Second, because the audience consisted pretty much exclusively of cool indie kids. Sure, they were all the perfect age range and really cute. However, they just wouldn't shut up! They were all so full of themselves that dispensing their wisdom there and then was way more important than actually enjoying the music.

This is all SO unfair!

E ti vengo a cercare

On the way to work this morning with the iPod on shuffle I stumbled across a song I had not listened to for ages.
Although written by Franco Battiato, it was the version recorded by CSI (Consorzio Suonatori Indipendenti - NOT Crime Scene Investigation).
Battiato is not just a song writer, he is a poet and a philosopher. And to me, this song says a lot. It can be about love, politics, friendship, mystical folly, whatever drives you.
When you listen to the recording, it is actually a lot lighter than it reads.
I hope you can master Italian.

Anyone can play guitar

OK, this is becoming worrying and quite problematic. Not to mention embarrassing. I have started air guitaring in public!

Until the heritage of my Heavy Metal days was confined to the safety of my house, with only The Man smiling in the background, it was just about acceptable. A bit of head banging has never hurt anyone (any adults, at least). But this, this is just.. bad!
I was on an escalator, when I noticed a few people in the opposite direction staring or doing a double take. The penny only dropped when this teenage girl looked at me and actually laughed out loud.

Is it an age thing, this loss of inhibitions? This, 'who gives a damn' attitude? Is this why the 80-year old hit on me? Because I am turning into a frumpy old lady without even noticing?

No, no, no, time to fight back!
So, in an attempt to channel this juvenile/senile habit into my good old rock'n'roll self, I am starting guitar lessons again. Yep, my old friend has just arrived from one my past lives, and is now sitting in my room. Soon, the posters will be up on the wall and I will start wearing again black, and no nothing else but black.
Watch this space.

Scooby Snacks

Last night at the Fun Lovin' Criminals gig, I was trying to find something witty, funny and sexy to write. Except..
First of all, I was annoyed, as I arrived late, ended up at the back, and, being, well.. short, I could see bugger all.
Second, I am stuck. And the reason why I am stuck is because there is a conundrum in my head I cannot solve.

It is not just Single Friend #1. Everybody around me seems to be in love. Now, don't get me wrong. I am incredibly happy for my friends. It is marvellous to see them blissful and dreamy. Even Best Friend isn't as sarcastic as she used to! What's more, everybody is enjoying passion against all odds. Against rationality, common sense and lessons learnt.
Quite clearly, in the past weeks, I have been trying to dissect being an EI and find some building blocks for future.. I wouldn't say happiness, but at least contentment. And that's why I am stuck. Somehow it seems to me even more that this love business is not something I will ever master. How come everybody else can somehow manage a sane relationship, while I pretty much mess them all up? Can't do serious, can't do light, can't do one-night stands.

And then something happened while I was jotting down these notes (yes, I am one of those saddos who type on their BlackBerry in public places). I got thirsty and went to the bar. And on the way down I discovered a tiny little spot where I could see the stage wonderfully. Like a personalized gap in the stairwell for me to look through. And that was it. I stopped over thinking and just danced along. And had a good night.

Tickets for tonight, tickets for tonight..

Parklife

It could only happen to me.
I was out on my weekend walk, iPod on, steady pace, sun on my face, grin of satisfaction, when I got hit on.. I mean somebody chatted me up, not a physical crash (which would be no surprise, BTW). Except.. He must have been 80! What do you do when a fit and pleasant guy, who could literally be your grandpa, makes a move? Sure, he was appropriate and polite, but.. really? Have I reached such a level of transparent dismay that octuagenerians feel at ease engaging a conversation in a park?
That's it, I am booking a day-long Spa session for a full head to toe restoration. And I am updating my training gear.

In case you are wondering, I muffled some nonsense about what I was listening to, put the earphones back on and started walking a lot faster.

Ever fallen in love

After a very successful first date with Sexy Guy, punctuated by eye gazing, hand holding, finding out about common interests and similarities - 'You like indie films too? You too are a middle child?' - making out in the taxi and long goodnights, Single Friend #1 has completely lost her marbles. And all she talks about is an alternation of his eyes, his biceps, his smile.. you get the gist. Which sparked a drunken debate: is falling in love a good thing?

SF#2 is very sceptical. She is convinced that unlike men, women can quite happily be on their own, and so should they - 'Let's face it, love is a messy, debilitating affair. It sucks the life out of you, and turns the most intelligent people into paralyzed, ridiculous, self-obsessed, unbearable versions of themselves. Friends are forgotten and ignored, careers fall into second place, families are a distant memory. Who wants to be annihilated for the sake of another person? Sex is all you need, really'

SF#1.. well, as imaginable, she waxes lyrical about the highs, the glow, the happiness, the singing in the shower, the warm feeling inside, the smiling, the sharing, the new discoveries..

Me? Well, I am kind of sitting on the fence these days.
For sure there is one relationship I would like to keep forever at the peak of its strength, one person I want to fall in love with again and again, respect and be faithful to: myself. And believe me, that ain't an easy one! The rest is icing on the cake.. the cakes I am not eating..

It's such a fine line between stupid and clever

While having lunch at an airport seafood bar, the Venerable enlightended me with a very interesting zoological anectode.
To my ignorance, I discovered that crab fishing usually consists in standing at the edge of a pier holding a long line with a bait at its end. Since crabs don't have a mouth, they draw water and food in the appropriate cavities through scaphognathites (love the word). Which basically means that when the bait gets pulled up towards the water surface, the crab keeps holding on just and only by choice. This stubborn determination is usually mantained for about 30 feet, then, in 50% of the cases, when you are already picturing the lovely meal your victim is going to provide, the crab lets go a few feet away from certain death. However, the remaining half of the time, the crab just won't give up and ends its days in the company of mayo and a few lettuce leaves.

Holding on while moving at unnatural speed towards the unknown? Stubborn determination not to let go despite clear warning signs of certain damage? Moronic ignorance of physiological defences acquired after years of evolution? 50% chance of failure? ...That is probably the only difference between a crab and an EI.. I reckon that at best we have a 2% probability of avoiding ending up alive in boiling water!

In Bloom

Finally spring is poking its head out. All the signs are here. The sun is warmer, the birds are singing, you can smell something different in the air, a general friskiness is around.
And indeed, while I was sitting inside writing, Single Friend #1 was out there falling in love.
After a week of phone tagging, she finally reached me and dragged me out of my self-sorriness for a coffee in the sun.
The first thing I notice when I see her is that she looks gorgeous. What is it about falling in love and pulchritude? And I don't think she was just making an effort in case she met him. She was actually glowing: perfect skin, ear-to-ear smile, oozing pheromones.

The liaison is still fairly new. Although she knew him before, she locked eyes with Sexy Guy over budget projections and pie charts at a boring off site team building event. Since then, as per modern dating etiquette, a deluge of SMS, emails and Instant messaging. In full excitement, she showed me some of the correspondence: woah, if he is as sexy as he writes, she is in for a ride! We will soon find out, as she is going on a proper date tonight. Hence the summit: what to wear? SF#1 is not one for showing much flesh. I have seen her entering a shower with a dressing gown on (well almost.. but she wouldn't take it off until safely away from my eyes). Which I guess is semi appropriate on a first date. But the 'dare you not touch me', shapeless top she took out of one of her shopping bags was just out of question. As was the leather dress coming out of another bag! Most certainly a momentary lapse of reason. My hopes were resting with the third bag, and, as I looked inside, bingo, she nailed it. Lovely grey dress, right length, right tightness, right cleavage, just perfect.
With the dress sorted out, we just had to worry about shoes, tights, underwear, bag, jewelry, hair, nails..
Jee, I had forgotten how time consuming dating is!

A bechamel moment

English Rose just sent me this, which describes fairly accurately how we are feeling..

Have you ever made bechamel sauce?
Well, if you have, there is one moment in the middle of the preparation when the flour starts clumping and the proteins in the milk precipitate. The whole thing looks like a big messy blob. This is when you feel like emptying the content of your saucepan in the bin. But don't! All you have to do is to keep stirring and stirring. After a while, the clumps melt and you end up with a beautifully flavoured sauce.
Some days in life are just like that. Everything is upside down and there seem to be no way out.
Just resist. Keep calm and carry on.
Everything will be fine.

Decisions, decisions

This morning I woke up at 4am, thinking and rethinking, tossing and turning.
What to do? What not to do?

I will just let it settle.. tomorrow I will know.
Now, I need to sleep..