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Archive for May, 2010

HAPPY LONG WEEKEND!!

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I NEED A NERUDA INTERVENTION.

I dwell on him. I stir his poems into my tea and take the daintiest sips, pinky extended. His poems are like a really fuzzy and warm SLANKET. I said it. I think I have a couple friends that would open palm smack me in the face in public for comparing him to a Slanket, but there are just too many striking similarities. Just the right length? Check. Makes me feel warm and cozy? Check. Something I would reach for when I’m having a profound moment alone? Check. Something that I emailed my ex about? …….

Here’s the problem we’re facing my dear. Twice today I wanted to send my Swede some Neruda (I didn’t, obviously, but I thought about it and that is wrong). WTF Pablo? Why do you do these things to me….look at this diddy:

“Drunk as Drunk”

Drunk as drunk on turpentine

From your open kisses,

Your wet body wedged

Between my wet body and the strake

Of our boat that is made of flowers,

Feasted, we guide it – our fingers

Like tallows adorned with yellow metal –

Over the sky’s hot rim,

The day’s last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice

And equinox, drowsy and tangled together

We drifted for months and woke

With the bitter taste of land on our lips,

Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime

And the sound of a rope

Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,

We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,

And lay like fish

Under the net of our kisses.

——– SIGH. That poem makes me want to press the back of my dainty hand to my forehead and collapse into a crumpled mass of thick, cloudy, suffocating, consuming, erotic, but nearly-fatal love.

I’m gonna try to avoid lascivious thoughts this weekend, but being such a close personal friend of libation…. I may be doomed.

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Andrew Bird, “Alone”

Being alone
It can be quite romantic
Like Jacques Cousteau
Underneath the atlantic
A fantastic voyage
To parts unknown
Going to depths where the suns never shown
And I fascinate myself
When I’m alone

So I go a little overboard
But hang onto the hull
While I’m airbrushing fantasy art on my life
That’s really kinda dull
Oh, I’m in a lull

I’m all for moderation
But somtimes it seems
Moderation itself can be kind of extreme

Ugh I haven’t had a moment to myself in so long. I miss myself. I wanna hang out with me so bad but I can’t seem to get on the list. It’s elbow to elbow in my life right now. I love my friends and my weekend is going to be an adult amusement park (Vegas lounge tonight, Capitol Skyline Pool Party tomorrow, True Blood themed soiree Sunday night). However come Monday (it’ll be alright), I’m gonna sit myself down and have a talk.

Hey you! Yea you. You’re having so much fun, I get that. But listen. Look around you. Your bedroom is littered with dirty party dresses, empty water glasses, and broken promises to me. Remember we were sure we’d be done with that book last week? Fail. Remember we were supposed to run 4 times this week? You didn’t make it home until after 10 every single night. When are you going to finish that comic strip decoupage craft project? You’re neglecting me. You promised me long hot baths and catching up on trashy tv. We never nap anymore, what the fuck? You’ve got bags under your eyes. You’re perpetually dehydrated. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.

LOWER YOUR VOICE! I love you I really do. I think you’re funny. Remember when we slid down the staircase railing at work because no one was looking? That was fun right? Oh that’s not enough?…. I’ll try to fit you in. How does your Wednesday night look?

Damn. And I’m swamped at work today, like WAY buried. So back to it (I have to chat with creepy co-worker repeatedly about one of my tasks and it made me actually disappointed that these windows don’t open because an 11 story drop sounds really promising right now). I NEED THIS WORK DAY TO END.

I know, who called the waaaahmbulence. Obviously I want cheese with my whine. I love cheese. Just ask chefboy.

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Well hello my darlings.

I realize that I have been completely neglecting you. Bringing up my lack of blogging at work has produced a variety of “YEA WE’VE NOTICED” type responses, so I vowed to continue the Swede story today. Post vow I got a sassy “I’ll believe it when I see it,” which makes this post completely obligatory, obvz.

Chapter 4: Fingers Snap, Back to Realishty

Obligation extended its boney sallow hand over the Atlantic, grabbed me by the collar, and viciously ripped me from my loving Swede’s hunky arms.  Leaving was excruciating. I broke down into cosmic dust when I started packing, when (ok this is slightly embarrassing) that Pink song came on that’s all “that last kiss, I’ll cherish, until we meet again….” I was rolling up my clothes (it saves space, I promise) and sat down whatever article I was holding, walked into the other room where my Swede was watching TV, and collapsed into him. I was clutching him desperately. Both of us were terrified to live without each other. I NEEDED him. It was like I’d dressed up in furs and jewels and revelry for months and was now being tossed out onto the street in rags. Yes that’s how I saw my life with him. He’s such a prince.

I had one of the worst days of my life when I walked away from him and through security at the airport (come to think of it, about 8 of my top 10 worst days involve walking away from this man). I sat by the gate and cried until snot was rushing through my nose and my red eyes were rubbed raw. I cried the whole plane ride. CRUEL FATE. I fucking HATE the Atlantic Ocean.

One of my Christmas gifts to him was writing him a letter for every day we’d be apart until he came to visit for my birthday. There were 40 or so brown envelopes, on the bottom right hand corner was the number encircled by a heart. I wrote about how he changed my life, about how thankful I was to have met my soul mate, and about our new life together. I missed him terribly.  

All of my top 10 best days of my life involve him, most of them seeing him for the first time after having been apart. He came to visit for my birthday and I was ALIVE with joy and excitement. I spent about 2 hours getting ready, curling my hair meticulously, biting fingernails, and finally going to pick him up at the airport. We always have really good hugs because of our perfectly compatible heights and widths, but this one goes down in history as flawlessly executed. Holding his hand in the car on the way home was so relieving, an oxygen mask after struggling to breathe without him. Finally, my friends could see that this fantasy-life I’d described was encompassed in tangible flesh, not just my dreams. He got to meet my family, and my Dad greeted him with a shot of Jack Daniels. Mind you my dad RARELY drinks, and this is the only time I’ve ever seen him take a shot. He had to invent a ritual to welcome his assumed future son-in-law. It lit me up from the inside.

One more month of painful longing and missing.

Then Spring Break rolled around, and I was off back to Sweden, back to my best friend, back to our apartment, back to our friends. I fly space available, and we hit a snag when I got bumped off my flight to Copenhagen. Fuckkkkkkkkk so we worked some magic and I was listed on a flight to London, thinking I could get a cheap flight from there to Copenhagen or Malmo.. and my darling Swede found a flight to Aalborg (Denmark), booked me a ticket, and gave me the contact info. Once in Aalborg, I’d hop on a train to Copenhagen, then Malmo-Lund. Denmark’s pretty small so it didn’t seem like a big deal….

Well it was. My layover in London was somewhere around 6 or 7 hours, and I was already exhausted from the jetlag. I stayed awake because I was scared if I fell asleep I’d miss my flight and be royally fucked and I had already lost almost a day of my short trip, an eternity if you’re measuring it in time-I-could-have-spent-with-him. So I did the zombie-shuffle to the Sterling airlines counter, and somehow made it to Aalborg. I get off the plane and it was like the Stephen King novel The Langoliers. There was no one anyone in this airport. No customs. No agents. No annoying people trying to advertise credit cards or Rosetta Stone. Just ghost town. I amble through this airport… not really sure where in Denmark I am… and then I found a nice Canadian girl from my flight to share a cab to the train station. At the station I caught a glimpse of a map, and guess what? Denmark is bigger than you think. And luckily, Aalborg is extremely far from Copenhagen. See below for my new train route:

 

So my train ride to Copenhagen was 6 hours. Then I had to switch trains and get on one to Malmo, then switch again to get on one to Lund. I thought I’d never make it. When I got to Malmo (FINALLYYYY) I realized, hey guess what? It’s Sunday night at 1 am. The trains have stopped running. Well fuck part 4. I found a guy who was also trying to get to Lund by cab, and we split one. I pulled up to our apartment on Bankgatan around 2 am or so.

I had not spoken to my Swede since London, so he had no clue where I was and was worried sick. I knocked on the kitchen window to get him to let me in, and I swear as my knuckles receded from the glass I saw him FLY out of the bedroom in his small tidy whities, shock and panic in his eyes. Before I could blink he was outside (still in just undies), arms around me, lifting me up in the air and showering me in a thousand kisses. I could see that he’d been beside himself with worry, and the relief seeping from his pores touched my heart. He held me tight the whole night, finally close enough to protect me from any unknowns. I woke up the next morning to a tray of fresh fruit, fresh bread, juice, coffee, a flower in a vase, and yummy smelling lotion (I’d complained that my hands were dry the night before). He gave me a massage, and as many kisses as I could ever want (which was good because I couldn’t get enough). We walked around again on those cobblestones of Lund, down all the streets where we had fallen so desperately in love.

Some pics of Lund (the first being our fav coffee shop)

Song: “Who Knew”, Pink  [stop judging before I slap you]

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I’m bored. This post is boring.

Is it sad that I not only want this, but emailed the Swede to ask if I should get it for us for his visit?

A co-worker has assured me that Slankets are ten times better than Snuggies because they’re blanket material instead of practically-felt and they’re long enough to cover your feet. Add the romantic bonus of sharing a slanket with a loved one and I’m almost sold. 

That’s one way to get him back Daphne, remind him how practical and interesting you are. Sighh. Countdown’s on, 43 days until he arrives. So, I’m aiming to relate the rest of the saga before he gets here. So far I’ve covered the first 5 months of our relationship… I’ve got a ways to go. An prelim sketch:

  • Returning to UNC, sans Swede
  • Our first visits
  • His semester at ECU
  • My move to Sweden
  • My hasty departure from Sweden
  • Our current involvement/this emotional clusterfuck of a visit

Considering I’m spending 84% of my time thinking about him these days, I feel myself slowly pulling myself off “the market.” I just want him most, still. Jeepers.

Song: “Flagpole Sitta,” Harvey Danger

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HAPPY FUCKIN’ FRIDAY YALL

I’m feeling so sunny its silly. Just a couple more hours and I’m bluebird free 🙂 I’ve got plenty to do, so I can’t spend time pondering over perfect words to make my feelings gritty and tangible, but before I free-fall into my weekend a couple things:

I found out a few minutes ago that I’m going to a ball tonight. I love my life.

Had an interview today that went really well on my part. Self hug. Loving my life again.

I think I was harsh on Bill with the handholding. I think things moved supersonic speed and I was browsing the situation for a wedge to force distance… Defense mechanism? If you realize that you’re doing these things can you reverse them or is it an acknowledgement of your own needs?

And:

HAPPY WEEKEND MY DARLINGS

Song: “I Feel it All”, Feist

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But I feel like I’m becoming one…. woops.

3:01 PM. Creeptacular Coworker delivers “the joke” to me again. You will recall that he told me this joke yesterday (thankfully today he spiced it up with the addendum “The poodles must be confused, because they say “Ruff” when they mean “Soft”). Case-in-point. I need a security blankie for work.

OK so I had a weird morning. I stayed over at Bill’s place last night. I know. I know. Too soon. Free cow milk and jazz… but my thing is, Wednesdays are so dreadfully boring otherwise. We ordered in Thai, watched the new episode of Lost, drank some tasty red wine, and had a very not boring evening. And then I was poised just 4 metro stops away from work, saving me about 10 or 15 minutes on my commute.

The weirdness comes in because he’s a hand holder (in public)…..

….and I met him Friday.

….. I just think that holding hands is incredibly intimate and should be reserved for people you’re totally/completely into, or for best friends. Or for comforting people that are having a hard day. Or if I’m trying to read your mind, holding hands helps me see into your head better (a la Sookie Stackhouse). But walking to the metro on the way to work pre-8 am? I’m left with puzzle pieces dancing around my head (I just got a great mental image of one of those synchronized dance scenes you see in older movies where the lady descends the grand staircase and men in tuxes with canes and stuff dance all around her, but instead of men they were giant puzzle pieces. Puzzle pieces in tuxes with white gloves and top hats and canes…)

I’m I’m definitely Charmin bear status snuggly but holding hands in public, to me, expresses some sort of ownership. Granted what occurred behind closed doors was a little more… personal… but I’m not trying to have anyone stake claims on me, because real talk I’m pretty emotionally unavailable. I’m more selective about who I want to hold hands with, because chances are that means vulnerability. Not into that right now. Cue puzzle piece conga line.

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