another symptom of the floopies: IDIOCY

When out walking Maggie last night in the dark and the rain I stepped on a rock and went over on my ankle, spraining it quite badly and painfully. Truth be told, it hurts like a son of a bitch!! Now I have broken this particular ankle 4 times in my life so am quite familiar with this event. After running the routine tests and establishing that it was not, in fact broken, I picked myself off up the pavement and stumbled back home. I iced, I elevated, I cried, and I contemplated calling the one person who lives relatively near me, who owns a car, and who, most importantly, keeps a supply of good painkillers at the ready. But I didn’t call. I sucked it up, made do with my measly Ultra-Tylenols and felt sorry for myself. The reason I didn’t call? Well, that would be because the person with the good drugs happens to be the same person who is the cause of my floopies and with whom I have a date on Sunday for a hike. The thought of calling him thereby allowing him to see me looking ever so slightly less than glamorous, and very vulnerable and with my apartment maybe not in the best shape that it’s been in in its life, was just too much for me to bear. I couldn’t do it. Also, making that call would alert him to the fact that I am injured and that maybe we shouldn’t go for a hike on Sunday. That won’t work for me, either. I plan on being in fighting shape come Sunday, or maybe I’ll suggest a gentle hike, like one with no hills or uneven surfaces ...

And I have yet to mention the really attractive and PAINFUL bruise on my hip, which took the brunt of my fall after my bloody ankle gave out. I am sure by Sunday that it will be all sorts of attractive colours.

The things we do for boys, eh?

how to irritate me

tell someone a lie, use me as your backup and don't bother filling me in on the lie (making me look like an incompetent and thoughtless idiot)

I do believe that that particular friendship is on its way out .......

Floopy

The feeling you get when you see a person’s name pop up on your call display, or your email in-box, or your text message in-box, when your heart speeds up and you feel slightly light-headed and your hand starts to shake even though you are fully aware that the cause of this disorder has proven time and again that he is more than capable of breaking your heart and throwing your usually well-balanced life and mind into an out-of-control tailspin.

That's right - this girl has yet again fallen victim to a terminal case of the floopies (yet there is a smile on her face, so maybe this time’s gonna be different)

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead!

You know how "they" say that taking the moral high ground and not stooping to your adversary's level, and being professional and all that is the better way to go? Turns out "they" are right.

My adversary is about to get her ass canned! And the best part? She herself sent the email to me this morning that will be the final nail in her well-deserved coffin. Victory is mine! (and I didn't even have to get my hands the least bit sullied)

SWEET!

(I do have to admit, though, that I was sorely tempted to bitch-slap her smug little face this morning)

so that's the secret

want to know how to make a presumably grown and respectable professional male in his late 40's grin?

(get your minds out of the gutter)

tell him he's first in line for the new model Blackberry and that it will be his by the end of the week.

issue of earth shattering importance

As a general rule I am definitely Anti-Clog. I am especially Anti-Clog when it comes to those truly ugly and I really don't care if they are the most comfortable shoe to ever grgace this planet, Crocs (or Holey Shoes, which are all the rage in fashionable Brakendale, British Columbia). That said, I am inexplicably drawn to these

any thoughts??

On Beauty

I am reading an amazing book right now - Zadie Smith's On Beauty. This passage struck a very strong chord with me as I read it on my commute to the office this morning:

"Why are there no awards for the girl who starves herself through the Christmas period – refusing all sweetmeats, roasts and liqueurs offered to her – so that she might appear at the January formal in a backless dress and toeless shoes, although the temperature is near to freezing and the snow is heavy upon the ground? Howard, who wore a floor-length overcoat, gloves, leather shoes and a thick college scarf, stood by Emerson’s front gate and watched with real awe the mist of white flakes falling upon bare shoulders and hands, the clothed men holding their near-naked, decorative partners as together they stepped around puddles and snowdrifts like ballroom dancers on an assault course. They all looked like princesses – but what steel must lurk within!"

Any girl worth her salt who has attended a winter formal in her lifetime can surely relate.

What am I thankful for?

Moments like this.

my very first piece of haute couture

For years my mother worked in the fashion industry, as a fashion co-ordinator, fashion show producer, personal shopper, and as such had access to some truly gorgeous clothing. Two items stand out for me: her midnight blue with white stars Kritzia cocktail suit and her full length, black silk Jean Muir skirt.

The Jena Muir skirt arrived at my door yesterday in all its glory and man now I know why one pays for the real thing ---- this skirt is at least 25 years old, looks as though it came off the Paris runway last week, weighs about 10 pounds in all of its black silk glory and looks and feels like a million bucks on.

And? it's a SIZE 6!!!!! That's right, I am now not only the owner of a genuine piece of haute couture, but of a genuine piece of haute couture that is a SIZE 6 and fits me!!!!!!!

now isn't this a nice email to receive??

I met with a friend last week about a new business venture he wants to involve me in. This was the intro line to our negotiations:

"First, I have to pass on that Jason was thoroughly impressed and wants to make sure we find a way to steal you away permanently somewhere down the road!"

yes, I am THAT good

Paranoia sets in

prompted by a series of emails about that last post

IT WAS A DREAM.

DID NOT HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE.

ARE WE CLEAR ON THAT POINT?

I looked at the stats to see who was looking, etc. one "viewer" stood out and when I drilled down to see who/where the IP address was from I got totally freaked out --- there is only one person I know who could possibly be checking in from there and that person is the LAST PERSON ON EARTH that I want reading this blog.

That person is the subject of quite a few of my most personal entries. I have never told that person about Finn's Space. I may have mentioned that I had a blog in passing over a year ago, but I certainly never divulged the name or the server or anything about it whatsoever. However, I don't think that it would take a rocket scientist to find it if one wanted to --- just google my name and "blog" and there you be.

Don't know exactly how I feel about this --- what's done is done after all and there is SFA I can do about it now. If I am right, then he now knows EVERYTHING. great. fantastic. see I never got over you. happy about that?

I am really freaked out by this

S***!!!!!!!

I’m sitting on my couch in my favourite PJ’s, sipping Aveda comforting tea and watching some enlightening show on television.

The phone rings.

“Hi, it’s me”

“Oh, hi”

“How are you?”

“Great, you?”

At this point am wondering why he’s calling. Why now? Why tonight? Is it a purely “let’s catch up on what’s going on” phone call or is it a “I have a few minutes to kill while waiting for my toast to pop” phone call or is it a "does he want or need something from me" phone call? What?

“Um, can I come over?”

“Now? Like tonight”

“Um, yeah, if that’s okay”

Yeah, it’s like SO NOT okay. You broke my heart months ago, you bastard!!!! You continue to hold on to one little part of me and push and pull as it pleases you and so of course it’s not okay!!!!!

“Of course, if you don’t mind the pj’s”

“Not at all (laughs) I’ll be there in about 15 minutes”

“Great, see you then”

Panic sets in. Glasses on or off??? Keep the pj’s as is or swap the ratty t for a sexy cami and try and pull off the “this is what I always wear to bed” attitude?? Make more tea or just stay on the couch and barely move to open the door for him?? DAMN HIM TO HELL ALREADY!!!!!

Swapped the t for the cami, kept the glasses on, made more tea.

Knock on the door

“Hi”

Big hug

“you look beautiful”

“um, thanks” (blush, feel slightly uncomfortable)

“tea?”

“sure, thanks”

I hate when we are this stilted together. I want the close comfort that we had. And still have, sometimes. But not always. Like now.

We settle on the couch, at opposite ends

“So, what’s up”

“I miss you”

Yippee!! He misses me!! He misses me!! La la la la la la (Smurf song)

“Um, well, uh, I”

“I miss talking to you …”

“we talk all the time”

“you know what I mean. I miss being with you. Like this”

“That was your choice. You ‘weren’t ready for me’, remember? You ended things and moved on with HER. That was your choice”

“I know. And I’m sorry”

Oh. My. God.

How desperately I have wanted to hear those words!!!!! I love this man and have tried to stop loving and wanting this man but I just can’t. I love him. I can’t stop loving him. Or wanting him.

“What am I supposed to say to that?”

He just looks at me and takes my hand and draws me close and I’m not stopping him. I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him. I want him. I want his arms around me and I don’t ever want him to leave. I feel the tears running down my face and I feel warm and happy and safe and LOVED.

* EDIT: I was getting all sorts of emails from friends asking why in the hell I hadn't told them that this happened and I was quite puzzled --- it was a dream for crying out loud!!!! Wasn't that clear?? Apparently not. Seems I omitted this rather vital final sentence:

Then I woke up. My pillow damp with tears.

oops, sorry about that