My English Fling

Why oh why did I have to have a one night stand with someone I like and respect? I really like this guy. Dammit. I'm annoyed because it was a PERFECT night. So so so so so amazing. And I know that anything more will ruin it. Because...I'm not supposed to like someone. I'm just allowed to sleep with them. Dammit! This is all my lovah's fault for wanting an open relationship. I don't care. Neither of them live near me, so what the hell does it matter? I'm talking about it and blushing about it for weeks if I want. Nobody can stop me.

Want the details?

Well, he's hot. Like...gorgeous. And cute. and he likes me. He said he usually sends girls down a ladder out his window (jokingly, but I got the idea he doesn't treat other girls with the same respect I got) but he was having so much fun with me and didn't want me to leave the next morning. He likes my teeth. Who in their right mind likes my teeth? He likes me cheeks (both kinds) and he'd pinch my cheek whenever I said something cute. Which was a lot. I'm cute. He knows it. He said I looked a lot better with my clothes off and why did I wear so much that night. He likes music. I played Cake for him and passed some sort of test I could not have otherwise passed, what with not knowing Jack Johnson and stuff. He was enchanted, I think. I was most certainly enchanted. Just the way he adorably rolled his eyes when I stole a kiss. The eyes that said "you're too cute, why does this have to end?" and "you're killing me!"

Want the dirty details?

This guy is a pro. The teasing. The perfect exact amount of teasing that I needed and love and at the time hate in a good way. Man. The perfect amount of talking during sex. Nothing weird, just dirty enough to turn me on even more and just enough communication to make things better but not ruin the mood. Can a one night stand even be that good? He asked me a lot of dirty questions saying I'm probably never gonna see him again so I might as well tell him all my fantasies. So I told him a few and he told me his (all of his involved music and I said "put your fantasy on a stage and we've got a deal") and we acted out what we could. He's...an English gentleman. I found out later that most English gentlemen are the same way. Do you fully know what an English Gentleman is? You'd think it's just politeness, opening doors, carrying heavy things for me...no. The full extent of an English Gentleman is that he didn't even get hard until I was wet. LITERALLY. So once he felt that I was wet, he got hard. LITERALLY. And he was into it, it's not like he wasn't having a good time before that, so you'd think he'd be hard, like, the second he thought about sex, or once he got my top off. Nope. Once he knew I was wet. That's Manners. It's in the core of his very being to put me first. That is HOT.

5 hours. (take that Baseball Knight!) FIVE HOURS of teasing, talking, fucking, laughing. Hot.

I want so badly to be in those 5 hours again. Or the 3 hours before, playing Roxanne or at Kaos with a K.

I've had my English fling and it finished too quickly (though he most certainly did not).

My English Adventure

DUUUUUUUDE!!!!! Oh man, I want to tell you all of this from the end to the beginning. Alas, that would be dumb. But just so you know, the end of this is AWESOME.

Okay, so I go to London with practically NO money. The pound can lick me where I bleed. Twice. I met up with my high school friend who I will henceforth call Frenchie. Frenchie and I VERY FANTASMAGORICALLY accidentally met on the same car of the same train by the same door. If you know the London Underground at all, you would know that that is practically impossible.

I digress.

We saw Avenue Q that night. Fucking crazy. Amazing. AMAZING. What else can I say? The talent in that cast is through the roof. I immediately fell in love with the guy who played Trekkie Monster and Nicky. Simon Lipkiss. Really Lipkin, but yeah right. I met him after the show and Frenchie asked me "how many times do you live?" Since the answer was "once" she made me write a little note telling him how talented I thought he was and how I would love to see him in a show again soon then fold it into a paper airplane and throw it to him while he was on the phone by the stage door. hahaha. I totally did it and it was great. He was so nice.

The next day, we got tickets to see Love Song starring Neve Campbell, Cillian Murphy, Kristen Johnston, and Michael McKean. Neve Campbell can take a leaf from the pound's book and lick me twice. What a bitch! I went up to her after the show, encouraged by the niceness of the Avenue Q cast, and said that I loved the show and that I always wanted to meet her because I went to Randolph. She laughed and said "oh really? cool." and walked away. Why the fuck put your name on a school if you're not going to get even a little excited when an alumnus of the school sees you in a show MILES away from your home and compliments you? BITCH. I couldn't believe it. She was probably just upset because she sucked in the show anyway. She would have still sucked in a worse cast, but with those three, especially Cillian, she might as well not have been in it at all. Man she sucked. I plan to slander her name because she's a ho.

That night we saw Phantom, awesome. Of course. Everyone was great. Raoul in particular. Frenchie had never seen it, I had, so I was more excited to see her excitement. She just kept saying "whoa!"

Okay, the in betweens is that I met Frenchie's friend who let us stay at his house and that was great, super nice english gentleman. As were his disgusting flatmates. Boys are gross. British boys can totally get away with it.

Also, I needed some sexual. I CRAVED IT. This waned a little the second day and a little more the third when we went back to Frenchie's res in South Hampton. And we had no money. Literally, I was left with 4 pounds, having not eaten a lot (but my soul was finally full). The plan was we were going to go to everyone's favourite club called Kaos. With a K. haha. The drinks there are dirt cheap, everyone kept telling me. So I was psyched to get smashed with Englishmen. ...boys.

It had been a mild day, we saw some beautiful historic stuff, but my mood was low, I was upset I had no money. Anyway, Frenchie and I went to Frienchie's boyfriend's house to pre-drink with his flatmates (I love saying that). We played Roxanne. Ever played that? Put on Roxanne by the Police and drink every time they say Roxanne. Thank the lord for Roxanne. I immediately felt awesome. Nauseous, but awesome. Wearing my red party dress gave me the confidence I needed to body talk the hottest of the flatmates. He insisted I kept an English accent for the rest of the night because he liked mine better than the girls he saw every day.

A note about this boy--tallest person you'll ever meet. cutest eyes. amazing smile. beautiful. hot. witty. hot. funny. hot.

So he buys me a drink the second we get there and it's an hour long chase. I seemed to be chasing him, but I was drunk, so I didn't seem to mind. But I wasn't too drunk that I made a fool of myself. Frenchie got the drunkest the fastest and asked him if he liked me and he said he definately wanted me. NICE. So finally, I ask him when he's gonna kiss me and he said "when you say something that shocks me. Something dangerous or--" and I just kissed him. I grabbd him by the neck and kissed him hard. And after drinking, dancing, kissing, hot comments, kissing, ass grabbing, we go back to the boys' house and have sex until dawn.

There will be plenty of details to come, but can I just say now that I am so so so so so so satisfied and happy. Wow. Wow. Wow.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

RENT OperÁria - Rent

Turn Up the WTF

okay. cyber sex. what do we think? phone sex?
sex with lovah only good when having it.
not good when thinking about it.
not good before.
no fingers brushing, no talking.
no cheek caressing.
love and trust and comfort.
i am what i hate--cliche. conventional. normal.

want to be called beautiful.
want to enchant. love to enchant.
enchanted all summer.
fell in love with the unenchantable.
his word.

i've been told 'I just want to take you!'
that turns me on.
i've been told 'oh god I want you so bad!'
that turns me on (in spite of the error).

i've been called beautiful. i've been wooed, given gifts, given flowers, massages, looks.

if i spoke french better, if i were a little braver, i'd be having it all again.

Dam you Jane Austen

I enjoy the act of falling in love...

These words, said once by a good friend going from one love to another, were fresh in my mind this morning. I had just dreamed that I was out with a group of people who seemed to be my new friends and I was slowly falling in love with one tall, handsome, young man. We all sat down on the couch together at the same time and my pinky brushed against his. We then spent the rest of the night trying to do that again. I awoke giddy.

I miss that so so much. The giddiness, the fingers brushing. The hand holding. The anticipation. The chase. The wondering. I don't think I'm the first person to realise the wonder of courtship (sorry, I just watched Pride and Prejudice). But I guess I did forget how marvelous it can be. It sucks though when dreams are the ones to show you what you've been missing.

I just miss human contact.

I Wanna Play!

I wanna write my resolutions too!

okay

1. To be like the Wizard of Oz and find a brain, a heart, courage and, by the end of the year, home.

2. To take a ga zillion pictures.

3. To keep my room clean.

4. To travel and learn stuff (aka, get out of my room).

5. To finish my book.

6. To look hot (ter).

7. To finish the musical (that my friend and I are writing).

8. To write letters to my friends.

9. To make friends.

10. To be in/do a show. Or, you know, 10 shows.

I Love Everything About This

Bob Fosse flips shit forever

HEY!

Sup, yo? None of you blogged anew. kinda. Bedroom Prince, I guess. and Skinny Rabbit, but not for a while. Now I don't feel so bad.

Oh yeah. Please buy, rent, steal, download, borrow or whatever the movie "Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure." It's so cool. That's all I can say. He told me not to tell you anymore. Please don't read any synopses. I hate when people ruin stuff.

Don't Hate Me!

I'm sorry. It's been too long, but I was having too much fun in real life to blog. Oddly enough, with all the fun comes almost no stories. Just fun. So that's why no blog.

But I do love you.

Oh wait, there is one story--I spent New Year's in London! Woo Hoo! We just missed the fireworks. We were so close. The sky lit up beautifully, but we didn't know why. It was so fun.

I love London. I need to live there after I live here. I'm seeing (hopefully) 4 shows in 2 days next week. I'm gonna barf with excitement. If I'm lucky, I'll see: Avenue Q, Little Shop of Horrors, and a Shakespeare or two. The girl I'm staying with (an old friend who's doing school there) loves straight plays so we have to compromise (I like straight plays, too, but I know musicals...) and see a couple of each.

I'm back in Sion now, but I have a great feeling about it. I feel better now that I was a big baby for 6 weeks. When I went home and had nothing impressive to show for it, it got me excited to come back and ...I dunno, live?

I'm gonna read and comment on your news now.

Happy New Year!

OW!

Are you trying to hurt me?

Don't tell me you all have lives and that's why you're not blogging.

I've done my part. I commented on all of your newest posts (twice, some of you), I updated both of mine, and I am entertaining and I love you. (that's my part.) I don't even have a computer. Qu'est-ce fuck is your excuse.

Missing you is worse when I have to e-miss you too.

Ease my pain, friends.

Revenge

Okay, so I know we all do it. Well, I know I did it...do it still. I fake sick, like all the time. But I never faked sick to people, just bosses. And to get out of school. That's no big deal.

But don't fake sick to people, to your family. That's just dumb.

I didn't believe her. I knew, I knew she was faking it--it takes one to know one. And her grandma bought it, hook, line and centre. (ps, I don't know what that expression means.) She was pampered like a princess and got everything she wanted. And I seemed cruel for not really sympathising. Sure enough, half an hour later, she was FINE. No, not fine, jumping and screaming with irritating joy.

This is punishment. I know it. All my old bosses called Switzerland and made sure they found me a girl who fakes sick and gets away with it.

I Can Only Tell You!

I miss Canada.

I miss Gilmore Girls.

I miss other TV.

I miss my bed.

I miss my mom.

I miss peanut butter.

I miss Tequila.

I miss Crews.

I miss the Mermaids.

I miss Barrie.

I miss Newmarket.

I miss the Vic.

I miss Randolph.

I miss my kitchen.

I miss my cat.

I miss my PJs.

I miss eggs for breakfast.

I miss chinese food.

I miss flat land.

I miss straight roads.

I miss not 9-5.

I miss unconventional.

I miss the possibility of drugs.

I miss English.

I miss Korea Town.

I miss the VM.

I miss daily freedom.

I miss the movies.

I miss hanging out.

I miss performing.

I miss you.

...

Having said all that:

I like mountains.

I like cheese for dinner.

I like walking everywhere.

I like hot chocolate.

I like new movies.

I like petting zoos.

I like French.

I like friendliness.

I like travel opportunities.

I like people watching.

I like castles.

I like christmas in the air.

I like my big room.

I like the crows.

I like weird crowds.

I like stunts.

I like my heart growing fonder.

I like letters.

I like baby smiles.

I like my advent calendar.

I like blogs.

I like free weekends.

I like writing.

I like my new scarf.

...

I hope that's enough to last me a year.

Chocolat

As I mentioned in a comment on Skinny Rabbit's blog, I am completely sick of being in the audience. Oh how I miss the stage.

Oh yeah, also, I want to act with Johnny Depp. Why can't I? Who the fuck is Keira Knightly, and why the fuck does she get to act--make out with--Johnny Depp?!?

(this all feels familiar...have I blogged this before?)

Anyway, Keira can suck my balls. It's my turn to make out with Johnny Depp. I'm older than her--which is the most depressing thought in the world. This age thing.

But one of the people I wanna be is Catherine Zeta-Jones (started with Zorro! got to do a movie musical...) and she didn't get a movie until she was 27. Now I'm not as gorgeous as Catherine Zeta-Jones, I'm not as young and skinny as Keira Fucking Knightly, but I decide I have a chance. So, the age I will kick ass and, like, get something is 25. That kills me, as I wanted it to be 18. At the oldest 22. Why am I already 23? It's okay, it's okay, 25 is the age. It's happening. I have nothing else to do.

A few unrelated side notes:

1) Yesterday was my half birthday. Nobody cares about their own half birthday, let alone mine, but I still like to at least recognise that I'm a half a year older. I used to make my mom acknowledge the day with a special dessert or something. I thought about that yesterday, and sure enough, she sent me a "Happy Half-Birthday love, Mommy" email. Best mom ever.

2) I'm listening to the South Park Christmas CD and I'm so freaking cheerful you could hang me on your tree.

3) Miss Pants is officially my favourite blog commenter. Sorry to those of you who thought you were in the running. She takes the cake (though I THOROUGHLY appreciate and love the rest of your comments too). Thanks Miss Pants!

4) I just watched Chocolat. If you don't love that movie, you need to repent.

ack! Thppth!

I know I seem totally bi-polar-y like all the time, but then, everone is, if you go by blogs.

I'm better now...I'm meeting a guy from a band for drinks tonight, to see if I can be in his band!

I'm super excited to a) be among grown ups, b) go aaaaoooouuut tonight, c) talk about music and stuff and d) not sit in my room and be a fuck up.

I used to be president of the fuck up club but I'm giving it up (I say this all the time) (he does this every friday--what's that from?) to become an accomplished...um...human being. or something.

Now, I'm going to do dishes.

Reading Makes Me Write

I've been wanting to blog this:

It was supposed to be different.
It's the same.

I've been looking for familiarity; I got it. Recently, in a good way--A couple of British men with their little boy at the park speaking English and not being awkwardly polite like everyone else in this town. But mostly, it's just that there is nothing here you can't get at home.

It was flushed out in my mind, the gay couple and the shopping stories. They are pretty boring now, I guess, but I think they get my point across. Anyway, today, I wrote this in my journal:

You know how time...moves? It moves differently at different times. (I don't think I'm a genius for figuring this out, I just think I'm lame for the way it happens to me.)

Here's what that thought brings to my mind:

Just now, after doing yoga for 30 seconds, I thought "wow, this feels good," but I also thought "yeah fucking right I'm gonna do this for longer." The voices of made up yoga instructors were saying "5 minutes for a sun salutation, breathe, take it slow," and "surely 5 minutes out of your day will go unnoticed!" (who talks like that?) But in the first 30 seconds of the five minutes, it's not unnoticed. It's a huge fucking hindrance. I'm not spending 12 times the time I just spent on that. (I can do it in a class for an hour and a half. It's on my own that I have problems.)

Also:

Almost every time I brush my teeth, I remember my grade 1 competition with Michelle; Who Brushed Their Teeth Longer This Morning? "I brushed for 3 minutes this morning, I counted." I lied every single morning. It's embarrassing to admit you don't clean your teeth like you're supposed to. But I brushed! I brushed until there was nothing on my teeth which was always the same time I got bored. Why in the world would I brush longer than that? (now I know that there's serious stuff under the obvious stuff but I have an electric toothbrush--3 minutes of that in my mouth is completely ridiculous.)

Also:

Chewing. We're supposed to chew, what 34 times per bite? No way! What are you eating that you can't swallow after 20 chews? Have you ever counted? You'll be swallowing AUTOMATICALLY at 12, 17 tops. Shouldn't you just do what your body tells you?

The problem is, I'm always wishing I could be on to the next thing, and I'm always pining for the last thing. The last bite was so good, why didn't I savour it? I'd rather be brushing my teeth in the bathroom in my sweat pants than on the bus. And I certainly love yoga.

When I'm reading, yeah, I'm comfy, but I wanna go out. I need human contact and I feel like I should. When I'm out, I wish I wasn't spending money.

Other than friendship, the only thing that is not a waste of time is performing and art.

Since there are no friendships here, I need to perform.

Then I read Nick Hornby for a bit (which I reccomend, all of it) and went to the bathroom and then wrote this:

I'm getting fat.
My breasts look fabulous in this shirt.

Those are the two things I note when I look in the mirror.
(Maybe the latter is directly influenced by the former?)

But will my lovely, fat, perfect breasts distract me from the fact that my eyes look tired and sad? The fact that my second chin is getting significantly bigger? The fact that I'm too lazy to pluck my eyebrows or put on mascara? (don't underestimate the seriousness of laziness.) The fact that my hair is still in limbo?

Will my beautiful necklace and well dressed upper body distract me from the oversised cut-off second-hand red sweat pants on my devastatingly overgrown thighs?

No.

Well, maybe the good things are a small consolation--but the question is "what does it matter?"

No one here cares what I look like. There are no boys I want to impress, no connections that seem makable.

What's worse--No one to look good for, or the inevitability of looking bad if there were someone?

I'm not sad because I'm alone.
I'm sad because I'm not making any friends.

I'm not sad because I'm fat.
I'm sad because I'm not getting thin.

I'm not sad that I'm babysitting.
I'm sad that I'm not performing.

It's the "not" that makes me sad.

I always do this. Or I guess, I always don't.

But then I had the beautiful hope of Switzerland.

It was supposed to be different.
It's the same.

I looked at my journal and thought. I added:

I was supposed to be different.
I'm the same.

That's Right Mothafucka

Okay, I totally redeemed myself. I spent the whole day completely wowing this girl. She was good in the morning, so she caved, not me. Anyway, she was totally psyched with my awesome skills. "Je sais tout ce qui donne la plaisire aux enfants!" or something.

She is now putty in the palm of my hand around my little finger. or something.

Anyway, I know this is my second Motherfucker in the past 2 titles, but I kick ass. Mothafucka.

Motherfucker cock shit fuck

Okay, so I have a confession to make, I am a good babysitter, I am. But...with good kids. With bad kids, I'm still fine. They won't get hurt or anything. But there is a good chance that I'll hurt them. obviously, child abuse is not funny. But what if the child abuses you?

I can't control this kid. Not that I want to control her, I just want her to stop being a bitch. She totally does things just to piss me off and she doesn't follow the tiniest instructions like "stop hitting your brother." She doesn't say please. She acts like she honestly believes I'll do whatever she says. If I don't, she runs away or hits me. Qu'est-ce que fuck am I supposed to do?

Mary Poppins just won't do--the kids from that movie just needed some love, and love is what I got--this spoiled brat needs Nanny McPhee. Or an exorcist.

Oh well, I'm handling it.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

This is really a post that belongs on my claireischeesy blog, but I don't want certain people to find it. This works though.

Remember all those lessons we learned when we were kids? Every story we heard, every movie we watched tried to teach us something. Don't take candy from strangers, don't lie, believe in yourself, don't judge a book by the cover, dont...make deals with witches, your dead father will always be with you in some way, true beauty lies within, even if someone can't talk, they might still be your true love, humans don't belong in the jungle, etc (lemme know if you think of more...I'm at a loss)

Well, really, other than "don't take candy from strangers" do we really follow those rules until we learn them for ourselves? I didn't. And I'm sure I've taken candy from many a stranger.

Remember the message from Wizard of Oz? There's No Place Like Home.

Oh how I wish I had ruby slippers. It's not that I'm not having fun here, and I know if I met the Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion, I'd be a lot happier. I'll make friends soon, I know. But Dorothy got to bring Toto.

Bedroom Prince had it right when he said "don't go." But I guess there's no way to explain such a thing.

Why wouldn't I go?

Auntie Em was too busy for me and Miss Gulch was trying to steal my dog! No one was paying any attention to me and everything was black and white. I needed new and magical things. I needed attention. I needed colour.

But alas, I'm here for a year and realised too late (or too early) that:

"...if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with!"

I guess I'll just have to try and enjoy my time in Oz. Maybe Dorothy was happy to pay off her student loan and learn french while she was there.

I just really miss Auntie Em.

Desperate Housewives

"This is what married people do, they go out of their way to calm each others' irrational fears!"

Damn, It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta

I can drive stick on a mountain.