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I Don’t Even Know What to Name This Post

18 Oct

I am well aware that this is my third post in 24 hours. This is what happens when I’m left alone to contemplate on my weekend off.

All week I’ve been pestering my friends, trying to make plans for this weekend, and everyone’s been busy. Literally, there were no options, even my parents went away this weekend. So I binged on seafood and beer and watched a movie (girl’s life sucks and then she meets a dude) and spent too much time online, and finally I went to bed and took forever to fall asleep, and pulled a muscle in my shoulder which is bugging the hell out of me.

And oh, in case you were wondering, my preiod’s late and I have horrible PMS. And don’t worry, I’m not pregnant, last time I checked you needed to have sex for that to happen, and I’m just not that lucky. But, this waiting irritably for my period to come has one perk to it, which is that no matter how fucking lonely and sad I feel right now, I cannot sleep with an ex. And I think that should be my new life mission: no sleeping with exes.

Last night after finally falling asleep, reading a silly romance novel (girl’s life sucks and then she meets a dude, sound familiar?) recommended by my friend J, who guess what, went away this weekend with everyone else, I had a very weird erotic dream, which I am about to share with you lucky bastards.

I was in Berlin, in my friend M’s uncle and aunt’s house, where we visited summer 2013. That was a hell of a trip. I’m going to sidetrack now and tell you about it for a second. M had only recently found out that she was sick, and it was as good an excuse as any to get together for a reunion trip. There was me, playing the role of the single mom, betrayed by her partner of 13 years, but awesomely strong and feeling hot post affair with SG. There was G, who now has three kids and is in a cult, but back then only had two kids and was in a cult. She had recently moved into a new house in the middle of nowhere and was weening her youngest from nursing, so had sore boobs the entire trip and basically could not believe that she was actually sleeping through the night. J was the stable one, which was weird because shortly before she had been the all-over-the-place-looking-for-herself one. She lived with a boyfriend, who we all loved, but now hate, since they broke up. She’d quit the life of unbearably low teacher’s income to work in hi tech and was overwhelmed by the hours, the emails and the stress, but at the same time enjoying immensly the sense of financial relief. E couldn’t come. She was busy going into labor. Actually, I think I should lable her as the stable one. She’d had a bunch of shitty stuff happen to her, but she was now living with her very kind and loveable husband and having a baby with him. Plus, she’d just handed in her thesis.

Then there was M. I met M when we were 18 and clueless and soldiers (gotta love mandatory military service), and I hated her at first because she’d made a comment about my weight. She’d been cynical, she later clarified, and I hadn’t discovered cynicism yet back then. A few months later we got to know each other and became best buds. Our gang got me through some rough times. I was horribly depressed in the army (and then I met a guy. Sound familiar?).

Anyway, M was going through some hard times back then, and her way of dealing with it was for us to go out dancing until the wee hours of the night. She didn’t like to drink back then, so she was always the designated driver. She lived with her parents in a gorgeous house in a beautiful town with the greenest most soothing views. And our favorite thing to do, after clubbing, was to come home at 6 am and order junk food and eat it at the best viewpoint in town, joking loudly about the guys who had hit on us, or who’d told us we danced like whores (true story). Our ears still ringing post BabyOneMoreTime and YourLoveGotMeSoCrazyRightNow, we’d fall asleep until it was early afternoon and then laze about in the garden, picking fruit from the trees.


I know I was talking about Berlin, and my dream, which now suddenly feels totally unimportant. I’ve been very honest and open in this blog until now, but if there’s one thing I haven’t written about at all it’s my friend M’s sickness. And I think I mostly haven’t written about it because she’s one of the only people I know who reads this blog. And it feels sort of unfair to write about how hard it is for me that she’s sick, and to have her read about it. Sort of like how my mom kept telling me how hard it was for her when BD and I broke up.

Obviously it’s hard to worry about her. Obviously seeing someone you deeply love in pain is the worst thing in the world. Obviously it pains me that I would like to be there for her more than I am able to, physically and emotionally. But in all honesty, the worst part is the most selfish part. I just miss our carefree friendship of early 20’s. I miss going out to a club and dancing “like whores”, and making fun of the boys that hit on us. And I’m not good at being patient. And you need a lot of patience to fight cancer.



That trip, I think, was a moment of forgetting about all the crap that was going on in some of our lives and just having some carefree fun. I think I remembered it now because I was going through some old photos and maybe that’s why it entered my weird sex dream which I was about to talk about when I began reminiscing like some sad 80 year old. So let’s get back to it, shall we?

I was with M at her uncle and aunt’s house, and I think the rest of the gang was there too. Yes, E as well, I’m remembering now, no kiddos, just us. And there was a guy there, his name was K, and actually, I know him. When I went on my three magical day vacation in Budapest this summer, he had showed me around. I knew him through M, because she was into couch surfing and he’d stayed at her apartment in the city the year before. K was really sweet, funny and had a sexy French accent, because he was originally from Bourdeau. Anyway, he was in my dream too, and we were sharing a room.

The room was enormous and our single beds were at two completely different corners of it. Before we’d gone to bed we’d had a dinner all together, with the aunt and uncle as well, and we were drinking red wine and laughing and K and I were slightly flirtatious, but only slightly. When we got to the bedroom though, I decided I was going to make a move.

I was a little worried because I hadn’t showered, and I felt self concsious. Still, I felt like I had not been touched in forever (wonder where that feeling came from) and I decided to just go for it. I came to his bed and started chatting and kind of touching him on the shoulder and flirting. And he said: “I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Which I read as rejection. But then I said to myself, don’t over think it, and I kind of continued flirting and soon we were making out. I remember vividly thinking to myself that if he had said this was not a good idea, that meant this was probably a one-time thing. And I was OK with that. It also crossed my mind that he might actually stop in the middle, because who knows, maybe there was a good reason why he’d said that. And then I remember thinking, even if we don’t actually go through with this, at least someone is holding me right now. I should just stop thinking and enjoy this warmth because who knows when anyone is going to ever hold me again.

He was warm, and I remember it in a non-sexual sort of way, like it was just comforting and nice. And then, it started to become sexual and I was totally worried about the shower thing again, so I told him I needed to go to the bathroom and went to shower quickly. I had to run around the entire house half naked and couldn’t find the shower, and finally did, and there was no door or towel, and I sort of washed myself and somehow dried up, but then the shower curtain fell and I just decided not to fix it and run back to the room.

He was still in bed and was waiting for me, and I was surprised he still wanted me, because I was sure I’d taken too long and he would be over it. And then we fucked and it was totally boring and missionary, but just so nice and comfortable and warm and when it was over I was prepared to go back to my bed but then I got the nerve to ask him to hold me and he did.

There will be no paragraph tying everything I’ve writted here together, with some hopeful message to the world or to myself. In two hours my Boy comes home and I go back to being a mom, which is something I can handle. So for now, goodbye alone time. I hope to not encounter you any time soon.


A Letter, A Kiss, and No Regrets

9 Jan

Still 31Strange and unnerving to see yourself suddenly in a different light. I am sitting on the floor in my bedroom, and my runny nose is the result of a combination of an allergic reaction to old dusty notebooks and the tears that are choking me up. I honestly didn’t remember. I had told the story about Y many times. But I didn’t remember the details. He was a scumbag for leading me on and I was naive for thinking he wanted anything more of me than just my body, but really, that was that. And now, sitting on the floor in my bedroom, surrounded by dozens of notebooks and letters which I’ve collected over the years, I find this letter, written nearly twelve years ago, and the story seems different than the one I’ve been telling. It seems worse. Doesn’t it? Or maybe I’ve just not revisited the scene of the crime for so long?  Maybe I was exaggerating in the letter. Maybe it wasn’t really that bad.

My tragedy is that despite putting on the independent lady charade, I constantly seek affirmation, and I seek it from men. That’s what happened when I was nineteen. That’s what’s happening now. Alone, I just can’t be sure that I’m enough: a kind enough person, a good enough mother, a successful enough career woman, pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough – ENOUGH. But seeing as the men in my life tend to disappoint me – and I know there haven’t been many, but the few that have had a presence in my life were all enormous disappointments – as long as I need their affirmation for my being enough, I will never attain it, I will always be seeking, forever. And I don’t have the energy to seek anymore. I want to stop seeking. I’m exhausted.

New events have been occurring in my life recently, every day is new, every day is a struggle, but also an achievement. A crazy storm is raging outside, and people are staying in, even my therapy session has been postponed due to blocked roads. And with no one to talk to about all this shit that’s been surfacing, I had to talk to myself tonight. And that’s what I did, gave myself my own little therapy session.

A few weeks ago I made out with a boy I didn’t know at a club. I was drunk and angry at BD and I had made up my mind that this was it. I was going to kiss a boy. It was like insurance. I was going to be the first one of us to have something going on with someone else. It might not have been the healthiest reason to have done it, but it was necessary and I have no regrets.

At the club, dancing with the girls, I was showing lots of cleavage and radiating a need for a man. I know it, because I normally do not get looked at so intensely, and there I was, the center of attention, or so it seemed. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I left my friends and went to dance alone, in the middle of the crowd. Within seconds, literally, there were hands on my shoulders, but it was not the guy I wanted, so I turned around and saw the one I had my drunken eye on. Tall, very tall, a goatee. He put his arms around my waist as we started to dance together, but I had no patience for this BS, I knew exactly what I wanted. A kiss. So I pulled him to me.

It was a long, wet, kiss. He tasted faintly of cigarettes but I didn’t care. He was a good kisser, deep, intense, nibbling my bottom lip, his hands on my waist, then my back, then in my hair. I broke free of him when I felt that I was starting to overthink it. Then it dawned on me, what I had done, and I was laughing nervously. Just to shut myself up I kissed him again. But it wasn’t that great the second time around, I was too tense. So I smiled at him, and left, fumbling through the crowd, back to my friends. I said goodbye, I’m really tired, I grabbed my stuff and took a taxi home, and didn’t dare to breathe until I was indoors and the door was locked behind me.

At home, I sat on the bed thinking. You’re a married woman! I told myself. You should be ashamed. But I wasn’t ashamed at all. I was proud. I was strong. I was a go-getter. I apparently did not look like the mother of a baby under 1 year old. Nobody gave a fuck, apparently, that I was still carrying some pregnancy weight.

And now, here I am, sitting on the floor in my bedroom. It used to be our bedroom, and now it’s just mine. And a letter from so long ago is unnerving, it’s making me feel like deep inside I’m still that girl, who’s afraid to disappoint or let anybody down, a girl who just wants the cool kids to like her, who’s in love with a bastard and willing to put her wants and needs on hold for just a bit of attention.

Is that where I still stand today? No. I know it isn’t. And maybe this is why I needed this to happen. To show myself, that 19-year-old me is different from 31-year-old me. SHE had said no. But not loudly enough. Not assertively enough. SHE was not heard. SHE went with it, despite not wanting it. I said yes. Loudly. Clearly. Assertively. On my own terms. I got what I wanted. I got out when I’d had enough.

We grow up. We change. Apparently the breakup has not erased these thirteen years of growth and self-improvement, for some reason I was sure that it would. But 31-year-old me, thank god, is still here. And 19-year-old me is in the past, where she belongs.

Out of My Head

6 Jan


I was in a kind of nostalgic mood yesterday, so I dug up some old CDs and started listening to them, allowing the songs to send me each in turn back to a different period of my life. Duran Duran, REM, Radiohead, Semisonic, Guns and Roses. After switching a few CDs I got stuck on Fastball’s All the Pain Money Can Buy, listening to it again and again, specifically to song number 10, Out of My Head. I must have been around nineteen when I first got hooked on this song and couldn’t stop humming it. Nineteen. Hmmm. That was the year I met BD.

We met online. Back then everyone was on ICQ, remember those “uh-oh”s indicating incoming messages? The beginning of instant messaging, the thrill and freedom of faceless communication.

I was going through a difficult time back then. Maybe I’ll write about that some day. But that night I had gone out dancing with some friends and came home at 3 am, tipsy and weary after all the goofing around. I was in a good mood for once. Things were looking a bit better for me. So I decided to go boy-hunting online, as I had done several times before (which had led to some terrible/awkward/depressing dates). I did a search. I was looking for a guy, ages 18-25, who liked Radiohead, which I was completely  hooked on at the time, who read, and, well I don’t remember, there may have been a couple of other criteria.

Three guys popped up, and I wrote “hi” to each of them, and waited for an “uh-oh”, and it arrived. Uh-oh indeed. He was a 20 year old boy, witty and amusing, fun to chat with, full of excitement about life. That was my first impression of him. He seemed to always be going out, especially to concerts (he’d gone to that Radiohead concert I had been dying to go to and could not get a ticket) and he could quote poetry, which completely got to me, although I later discovered he had been copying passages directly out of a book.

We chatted for a couple of hours. Then we exchanged numbers and spoke on the phone several times. Finally it was time for the date. Having dated more than a few creeps that year, I told him we’d meet at a book store by my house, that way I could walk there (I didn’t have a car or a driver’s license back then) and we could meet and chat before I decided whether I was getting into a car with him.

I arrived first, a couple of minutes early, and then he strolled in. I hadn’t seen a picture of him, and he hadn’t seen one of me. Blind date. He was cute. Very thin. I immediately figured he would think I was fat (I had some serious body image issues back then). We hugged and chatted for a bit and then drove to a cafe by the beach. I remember exactly what I was wearing. A blue flowery skirt and a tight pastel green tank top that made my boobs look awesome, and my only pair of heels which were strapless sandals. I think I had my hair down. I may have worn an anklet, actually I’m almost sure I did.

BD was fun to be around. He seemed to know everyone, anywhere we went. The waiter at the cafe was friends with him and gave us a free bottle of wine. We shared a piece of cake. Then we went for a walk along the beach. He made a crack about having gotten us a room at a fancy hotel we walked by. On the beach we sat on the sand and chatted but he was to timid to kiss me. Then he drove me home. At the door, he gave me a peck on the cheek, but I’d had enough of his shyness, so I pulled him toward me a gave him a good soft kiss on the lips. We met the following 3 nights as well. We went to a movie, where we held hands, and I was so electrified by the touch of his fingers that I couldn’t concentrate on the movie at all; then to a club, where we made out on the empty second floor until getting kicked out. That night I didn’t invite him upstairs, because I knew what would happen if I did, and I wanted to take things slow.

I was in love. I told my mom that I thought this could be it a few months into the relationship. We had a lot to talk about, we had amazing sex, we enjoyed the same things: movies, food, travelling, and shared the same ideas. We were both excited to embark on an adventure together.

Man, I miss that time terribly. When everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky. The two-hour-long phone conversations. The kissing, God I miss the kissing. Later in life closeness became about sex, which was fine, especially when the sex was good, but I miss the excitement and anticipation of a good kissing session.

And now, here I am, listening to Fastball again, flooded with memories of how I met the love of my life, the man that I married, who gave me the most amazing gift of all, my beautiful son. The man who left me because he had become unhappy, and had decided that he didn’t deserve to live that way. And although I realize that we are over, and a part of me is ready to move on, the song keeps playing again and again in my head, and I can’t help but fantasize about the man I used to love coming back to his senses, realizing that we are a family, that it’s worthwhile to try and work things out.

“Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind? How could I have ever been so blind? I was waiting for an indication, it was hard to find. No matter what I say, only what I do. I never mean to do bad things to you. So quiet but I finally woke up, if you’re sad then it’s time you spoke up too.”