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Sex and This City…

5 Apr

It’s become clear to me that the majority of my readers are pretty much only interested in the state of my love life.

And fair enough. Someone’s got to be i suppose. So thanks Keith, for bringing my lack of ability in attracting Frenchmen to my attention.

The truth is, my poor little heart is being pulled in a million different directions at the moment – north, south, what-have-you. It’s very confusing.

But what i will say is that i’m not sure to be so convinced by the sincerity of Frenchmen to date. That’s not to say that they don’t exist, i hope, it’s just to say that i certainly haven’t run into any…. that are sincere and available!

Not least after this weekend’s novelty of being comically and ardently seduced by No Name at a party, whilst at the very same time, spying him asking other women for their number, repeatedly.

C’est comme ca, for the most part of the time.

When i give someone my heart, i give them the whole thing – which isn’t necessarily wise but it certainly prevents me (most of the time!) from putting it into the wrong hands. And so far, the right hands haven’t come along.

But never fear dear reader (Keith),  it doesn’t stop me from putting some of me into the wrong hands occasionally!



How to Attract An Australian

29 Mar

I noticed someone ended up on this blog the other day from having googled ‘how to attract Australian men’.

And to you, i say, “get back to me when you find out”.

But what i can offer is this. Unlike French men, who seem to go for anyone who seems like a bitch, i think in Australia it is rather the opposite. Ah ha, that’s right – be nice. I’m not sure if it is actually as easy as that, but it is certainly the essential ingredient.

To you, dear google-er (is that a word yet?), if you read this, and you are indeed a nice person, you should have no trouble attracting yourself an Australian.

Let me know when it happens 😉

Short Hair Blues

19 Feb

Recently, in spite of my better judgment, i have cut my hair extremely short. As one lovely friend pointed out, it has hit lesbian mother territory, and possibly the point of no return. It’s taken me a little bit of getting used to. For example, i absolutely could not look at myself in the mirror for at least the first week without tears welling up in my eyes.

Dramatic i know, but true. A woman’s hair is very important, and when it’s not flowing down surrounding your face in feminine mystique, it’s a little unnerving! As Jack Donaghy says, “Lemon, everybody knows that your hair is your head suit”

As i was wandering around town, sitting on the metro, doing all those normal things, all i could think about was if everyone was wondering whether i was a lesbian. or, whether people were just looking at me thinking er, what has occurred on top of her head?

But this was just the first week. Okay, first 2 weeks.

It’s been a month now, and i have to say, i am LOVING short hair! It’s true what they say that i may never go back! While it seems that i am missing a certain aspect of femininity, there is a huge element of liberation in the feeling of the icy wind on the back of your neck.

I got all dressed up to go out last night, finally feeling at one with my head, no longer feeling like an angry lesbian with 3 kids, and more like a lovely bohemian artist pixie.

I was standing at the bar ordering drinks with a friend, and a guy standing behind us tried to get our attention. I thought, god, why was i worried all this time, my hair is fine, and it’s still attracting all these dudes anyway, there was never a problem!

Even though we were speaking French, this guy behind us, head reaching about breast level, interrupts, and the conversation goes something like this

Him: “er, er ixcooooooose mi, er, you are zee iiiiiinnglish speaking?”

Me: “Oui”

Him: “Er, er, you arrrre waiting for zee service?

Me: “Oui”

Him: “Okay”

My friend and i looked at each other and rolled our eyes, communicating the the same thought of, “really, this 4 foot high dwarf with a square head is trying to pick us up? Mwhaaahahahaha”

But then i felt another tap on my shoulder –

Him: “Er, iixcuuuse me, ello. Uh, i wanted to say somefing also, i wanted to tell you that you are viiiry oggly”

Me: “Pardon?”

Him: “Oui c’est ca, i find you viiry viiry OGGLY!”

Me: WTF!!

Ouch. It kinda hurt i gotta say, and while i think a little unfounded, i may had temporarily gone back to avoiding mirrors for a couple of days!!

The interestingly timed unexpected…

23 Nov

Funnily enough, someone showed up on my doorstep last night with a bottle of wine and a smile that could melt a thousand hearts….

The end of a friend…

22 Nov

So it appears Mr No Name no longer wants to be friends.

Which is a shame because he was one of the several friends i have here whose friendship i truly cherished. (And not for the special benefits!)

There’s no specifics, no ‘incident’ that has brought this to my attention (in fact, it’s more the lack of incidents..), it’s just one of those situations where if i suggest we catch up one more time, i will officially be the equivalent of a telecommunications salesman who has zero concept of what the word NO means.

And it really makes me sad.

I may just have to put it down to a good lesson in what happens when you try to make friendship and sex mutually exclusive. Or maybe i was hoping for more than that the whole time. I really don’t know.

What i do know is that i miss him.

Maybe i’m underestimating how much Frenchmen think. Maybe there’s more to the story. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be friends without the hidden anticipation and the sexual tension. Or maybe, once again, i over analyse.

I just want my crazy, fun, intelligent friend back.

But I guess you can’t be friends with everyone.

Coffee with the man who broke my heart. Twice. Part 2.

18 Nov

I looked at him as he removed his coat and the first thing i noticed were all the distinctive marks of being dressed by a woman. He was absolutely not that trendy 6 months ago. The jeans had become a little tighter and the standard issue navy blue v neck jumper (the one i imagine he has worn every day for nigh on 15 years) had been replaced by a fitted, camel coloured cardigan.

It seemed like an ironic cruel joke. I didn’t ever give a second thought to the way he dressed, i simply didn’t care, yet any of my friends will be all too aware of my ferocious desire, today, for almost any man sporting a woolly cardigan. (Well, a cardigan teamed with a shaggy pile of dark curly hair. And while i’m on it, if you happen to be reading this, looking down, and thinking, ‘hey, that’s me!’ do not hesitate to send an email.)

Thank god his hair was neither curly nor shaggy.

Anyway, with this change of style in mind, i asked him if he was now living with the ‘other’ woman. Some may be cringing now thinking ‘why on EARTH would you want to know that’, but, I was genuinely interested to know if it had all worked out for him after the chaos that i’d endured.

But he wouldn’t tell me anything, and really just went mute at any mention of it. I don’t know whether that means that there’s nothing to tell, or whether he has enough heart to decide to spare my feelings with the truth. I assume the latter.

All i can say, and DID say, was that i hoped they were happy. I hoped for his sake it did all work out.

He did seem to be genuinely flawed by what had happened, i could tell he seemed both sad, and remorseful. He tried again and again to apologise, to remind me that everything he said to me was sincere, and that it was a shock and a crazy experience for him too when this other woman came back into the picture. But kind of futile to be saying these things now.

Surprisingly, he had somewhat of a speech prepared. No note cards, but clearly some long thought out reflection (tautology?). Apparently, courtesy of an olive branch i’d extended via SMS, he’d had quite a reflective Summer. And he wanted to thank me.

I’d imparted some lessons of ‘humanity’ (actually, i had ‘learned him lots of humanity’), which, due to my ‘intelligence, kindness and wisdom’ made him see some huge flaws in himself – so big he spent all Summer thinking about them, and me.

(At this point i thought it wise not to mention that when he called me this morning i looked at the caller ID to see the word ‘Mechant‘ staring back at me.)

It was hard to tell if i was sensing a tiny bit of regret. I know it’s the way it goes, that the ‘dumpER’ always sprouts the requisite bullshit praise for the ‘dumpEE’, as a gesture of kindness for letting them down, but i have to say, it still felt good.

The last thing i wanted was to be that idiot that wastes her time instilling values into someone only to have another woman to benefit, but it was nice to know that someone i once put on a pedestal, now looks up to ME.

I’ve said before that i always felt he was better than me – more together, more accomplished, and far more beautiful (clearly a contribution to the end of the relationship) – but for the first time, i felt like i could see everything clearly.

I AM amazing. He is NO better than me in ANY way. I just wish i could have seen that earlier…

Coffee with the man who broke my heart. Twice.

16 Nov

You think correct.

I saw ‘The Frenchman’. (Da-da-da-dahhhhhh)

It was time i reclaimed what was mine. So i sucked up what is left of my rapidly depleting pool of pride and strode off down the street in the direction of Oberkampf to…

…recuperate my tennis racquet.

That’s right, it had been held hostage in that apartment of sin for far too long – cowering under the bed while my former lover was (i imagine) rolling around on top of the bed with the sexy, lithe, bohemian woman he dropped me for (i imagine), reading poetry, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes by candlelight. (I imagine).

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the saga of the Frenchman, never fear – you can read the whole, sorry story in the blog archives, or more conveniently, just click here. Or here. Or here.

While i swore to myself i wouldn’t see him, and distinctly told him to ‘never, ever contact me again’, my resolve weakened slightly over the past few months, and i had an urge to see the reality behind the fantasy. I wanted to see if what i had put up so high on that pedestal still sat there, or if, after everything he put me through, did i finally see him clearly?

And then he walked in.

And i could feel my heart drop so heavily down to my stomach, it felt like i’d swallowed it.