the only way is up?

As a staunch democrat and a tory (!), as a Londoner I am still recovering from the events that unfolded early this morning.

I did not get the recommended 6-8 hours of beauty sleep last night. Unlike the last US election, the outcome was not one that I was supporting. It was the opposite of hope. I started following the reports before we went to bed, and kept waking up to the electoral equivalent of the boogieman/ monsters under my bed/ creeping dagger in a horror film where you know they're all going to die. (Meanwhile, my 100% British bed buddy who supported an in vote slept through the night.)  

Like most Londoners, I was shocked (though like fellow night owls, not surprised) at the outcome. The denizens have spoken and they made their bed. I'll say this for Cameron, for all his faults - a dignified speech in a terrible moment, I hope my interpretation of Sam's reaction is correct, as absolute support for her partner rather than loss of power and prestige.

In the aftermath, I spoke to people I knew who voted out. Many talked about the fiscal policy rationale, which to me is the most solid rationale.  How we were always half in (the pound being core evidence). That we would be more competitive and imports would be cheaper as a result (really? how? not being privy to tax laws with import/export, i am relying on advice from erudite social connections here). Some talked about the bureaucratic red tape which bruxelles has had us in a headlock for for decades.

Some said "it's not like we're going to kick you all out" - which brings me to the other reason to vote either side of the fence.

The race issue.

A European (geographic plates, not EU policy) friend of mine told me that they love Europe. They just wanted Britain back. That they were tired of waiting ages for an appointment with the NHS (as someone who has had positive experiences with the NHS in one of the more affluent boroughs, I saw this as a reality check for how the rest of the UK view the world). This friend lives in greater london, not zone 1-2 (or slightly beyond). Tired of having to spend their hard earned pounds (now at a 30 year low) on supporting poorer EU members, they say enough is enough.

I was wondering who were the 30% who didn't get their asses to a polling station with a 15 hour window yesterday. As I went to work and saw the homeless in the heart of London (who, without an address I assume would not be able to vote), it occurred to me how crazy our world is, and how privileged most of us are.

Today I spoke to one of the 30%. They didn't vote because they could not decide. They were not convinced by either argument, so they elected to not contribute. I'm all for suffrage et al but I think that is a sensible rationale. Why bias a vote if you don't have a true conviction behind your decision?

I voted to remain.

gawker stalker

so after last labour day i thought i'd send nostalgia boy something related to an exhibit we went to at moma. i bought it last june, july. and it's been sitting in my closet ever since. it's a good thing classical modern art doesn't date.

two weeks ago, i finally mail it across the atlantic, but not without some adventure. nostalgia boy's parents sold the UES townhouse and moved into an apartment overlooking the park. i remembered the street but not the building, and like all modern folk in this age of over-information, they're not listed.

so i google. i googlemap and street view to find the building. they have a door man so i know all i have to do is get it to the right building. it's not a famous one like the pierre or the dakota. i work out the building from an aerial view to recognise the furniture on the terrace, then, with the help of our intern, work out how to identify the building number.

before the digital age, a stalk-out like this could be a sign of deep psychosis and evidence for a restraining order. nowadays, it's a mix between creep behaviour and commendable research skills.

given it's august, i think the family are away for the summer. or i somehow got the building number wrong. or maybe, just maybe, it's freaked nostalgia guy out. it's still quite funny how there's a fine line between being creative and being creepy.

i was back in the city last summer and met up with a old flame. it's a classic girl wants to keep in touch (what, under the guise of being modern pen pals which you secretly hope provides an honest, open and frequent correspondence which turns into a relationship?), guy doesn't - either because he's bad at correspondence or he doesn't want to. either way, i didn't get a sense he was going out of his way to see me. but then he'll surprise me with comments like 'it's nice to hear your voice' and throw us right back to high school again.

it was a few days after labour day and we were both in the city with a free afternoon. so we meet up and he suggests we got to the met and moma. which for me is perfect date suggestion. it's the first time i've ever wandered through a gallery holding hands with a boy. it was nice. and i suppose for one afternoon i became one half of those sickening couples you come across, the arms wrapped around each other whilst standing in front of a piece. i can't believe i wandered around moma with some guy's hand on my butt and my hand under his shirt and i liked it.

we end up at trader joe's to pick up supplies and as his folks were in long island for the weekend we took over their kitchen and living room. it ended up being one of the best days i've had in a long time.

it's always more fun when it no longer matters

the douchebag ex and i had a random night last weekend.
as with most non-dates, with no expectations, i had a wonderful time.

we go to a shindig, catch a performance, then drink a small distillery/brewery's worth of alcohol on a school night whilst shooting the breeze: he was trying to articulate and share his frustrations in his current relationship - with the girl he fell in love with whilst still fucking me (who's half my age, way more exciting in the sack and someone he really connects with. the only consolation i take from this is my gut was right - he and i only had an imagined connection which was born of temporary, fresh lust. it's like we were both naive 16 year old girls who thought the temporary, fresh lust was actually something significant), i was listening and trying to give wise advice. we even ended up dancing to the swing band at the venue - the first and only time we've danced.

part of me sensed that he was trying to escape from his current relationship humdrums with me.

i refused to enable that. i didn't want to do unto some chick who doesn't deserve my consideration what other women and he did to me when he and i were dating. the irony is i also sensed he's appreciating how laid back i am in comparison - a trait which allowed him to disrespect me - so it's really a wash.

what makes two people fit?

what is it that makes two people fit together physically?
is it how your bodies are built? your relative size to each other?
the pheromones you each produce which happen to mesh together?

as a girl, i know i read a lot more into an encounter than the guy is - and i'm a girl whom most of my friends think acts more like a man than woman where relationships are concerned.

the thing is, i had people i fit with. people i connected with. until they met someone they connected with better. so none of that seems to matter in the long run. or maybe it's just the first inning and i don't know that yet.
 

i've been thinking about this again because i slept with this boy recently. the last time we slept together was an entire age of consent person ago. out of everyone i've ever been with, he's the first boy i didn't regret, and by that same token, one of a small handful of guys i'd wondered what it'd be like to sleep with again now that i've been around the block a few times. it doesn't hurt that he's still very attractive with a very nice body, and we had fun, happy sex back in the day.

it's funny how nostalgia makes caution fly out the window. we had sex multiple times without any protection. i should know and act better, but there's the trust of nostalgia (which i'm sure is responsible for many diseases and progeny out there).

to make matters more tv-worthy, we were out at dinner with his best friend, my college boyfriend, when the vibe first started to manifest itself. i'm sure the diner staff thought it was hilarious how we were holding hands under the table whilst sitting opposite this other guy. i ended up inviting him back to mine, and for the first time in a long time, i felt shy. instead of ripping off each other's clothes and attacking each other, we took things relatively slow. and once we got going, we couldn't seem to get enough of each other. this is something many men have said to me and then proceeded to not get enough of someone else, so i never dwell too much on it. i appreciate its contribution to an all-nighter though.

did this guy and i have a great night because we're fond of each other, have good chemistry, took a trip down memory lane and were relieved to find the other still knew what they were doing - maybe even better - and had the luxury of nostalgia, the chance to compare, and the pride of growth (and thus being better in bed)? or was it something more significant? did we seem to fit because of our relative size and height? because we hadn't had sex with someone we like (physical attraction or convenience does not equate to like) for months?

sunshine, lollipops and rainbows

I read an article recently about what is the song that plays in your mind, your heart.

And i guess I'm an optimist. for me, that song is 'sunshine, lollipops and rainbows'. though i've never felt that song in real life. maybe one day.

i've also realised that i need to let go of hope. i've kept a bottle of my last squeeze's favorite beer in the fridge. one bottle. i guess it was a stupid, romantic, optimistic view that he would realise that he wants to be with me and he's made a huge mistake.

but the reality is, he didn't want to be with me. we weren't right for each other. he let me down, i optimistically and stupidly thought he would come around. do some great big gesture. read this and realise that he made a huge stupid mistake. but life doesn't happen like that. in real life, you're just the transitional person to help them regain confidence. to give them the strength to pursue some crazy thing with someone whom they have a more amazing connection with that makes two people change who they are because they love each other enough.

and, as the years go by, you realise that it's never going to happen. you have a vague hope that one day, even if you're in your 70s you'll meet that guy who's the one. but you know that it's not really going to happen. and maybe you need to face up to the fact that life isn't a romantic comedy. and your role is to be that transitional person for every guy you've known since you were 16. it's not great, but at least you're finally coming to terms with your role in this universe.

the thing with getting older is that you know there's a smaller pool of fish out there.

you don't want to be that step mom who's the same age as the kids. but your alternative is to be the one who's actually a bit old for the peter pans you met. the one who they spout all that shit about you being amazing and all that, but really, they can't see what's really special enough about you.

the truth is, you know they're not right for you. but it still sucks big time that you're not the one whom they actually, for the first time in a decade, want to make the effort for. someone who's so special and worth it to them that they want to man up or. in the end, even though they're not what you were looking for, you're not what they would think is worth manning up for. that's probably what's the biggest slap in the face. all that bullshit about how special you are, how they can't get enough of you - it's all bullshit. after nearly thirty years, you think you can detect bullshit.

but maybe, when you're relaxed because you have a lot of love around you, and a lot of positive relationships, and you let go, just that once - and let's face it, it's all to do with timings - you fall flat in the mud. in your favorite outfit.

and it makes you realise that none of that matters. you think you're special to someone, some putz who at that moment in time thinks he really likes you and adores you and tells you that you make him so happy. and for a while, you love waking up with him. waking up to feel his arm around you, his fingers intertwined with yours. the way he looks when he's sleeping. the way he doesn't mind your kicking and snoring in bed and the fact that you have to pee a million times in the middle of the night. but one day, it all comes to a head and you realise you're not the only girl he's saying that to. and what's worse - you don't mean jack. you're a transitional stop-gap to the girl he loves. whom he didn't expect to meet.

the one good thing about this is that you helped someone gain enough confidence in themselves to meet the one. there's always a silver lining in these things. it's like the say - those who can't, teach. and until i loose my looks, i suppose i'll keep on teaching and transitioning.

but the next guy who tells me i'm beautiful and a catch, i think i'll slap him and walk away. after fucking him, of course.