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I miss you…

19 May

The week leading up to leaving was a very difficult one. For everyone, i hazard a guess.

It was one of the most confusing and stressful times i have been through, both emotionally and physiologically, and it’s unlike me to get myself in such a mess. Before now, i thought that i was actually pretty good at dealing with stress.

It was probably just one of your classic meltdowns.

Making friends now, at the age of (almost!) 30, is still a relatively easy thing to do, despite what others say. The problem is, that most of these people are not wildly inappropriate choices for friends. Rather, they are people you have attracted through the very nature of being who you are. That’s what makes it so hard to say goodbye.

It’s true that the same thing happened when leaving Australia to begin with – leaving people close to you. But the difference is in the conviction that life in my home town had the ability to be re-assumed, just the way it was, whenever i chose to do so.

In Paris, that life will never be the same. Even if i choose to go back (which is seeming rather appealing right now), it’s likely friends there will have moved on, or inherited new lives, ones which don’t have much potential to involve you any more.

And it wasn’t just saying goodbye to people, that was difficult.

I ended up walking around the city saying things like, “it’s the last time i am ever going to wait in line at this boulangerie” or “i can’t believe i am never going to see the sun hit my building like that again”. One of my friends said i was being so dramatic it sounded like i was dying. I even said at one stage that it was the last time i will ever be at a market. I think i just blankly forgot that these things (like food and sunlight) exist outside France.

At the end of it, i just wanted to get my fix of the regular things i knew i would miss – like cooking (too much) dinner with friends, unbuttoning my jeans, and passing out from overeating in front of a movie. Or picnic-ing on the canal and waking up with an arse so bruised it’ll be several days until you can even sit on the couch. Going out with the intention of dancing all night at Le Memphis, yet being too drunk and tired to make it there at the end of dinner. The routine.

I didn’t want to make it any more difficult for people by needing something more than the usual. I didn’t want to put pressure on people to provide me with some kind of idealised version of my reality just for the sake of closure. (Though i will admit to having done this a little, to which i feel a little remorse. ‘No names’ mentioned.)

Anyway, it’s all seemingly gotten under my skin. I guess now it’s just about finding a way to keep it all there, happily living inside me, without having to invest in expensive topical applications and pills to prevent any unwanted side effects. Like loss, or despair.

Lol, i still sound like i’m dying.

In the end, i chose to go. I chose to say goodbye to the city, to friends and (new) family, and to people i came to love. Very much.

So i can only complain so much.

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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!!

Love.

15 Feb

I have intentionally written a post about love on either side of Valentine’s day. Gotta do something to keep up my pretext of being an emotional jerk, right?
And if you didn’t think i was a jerk? You might in a minute!

But it is on the brain (love, not being a jerk) and once again i’ve far too much time to think. That and i happen to be reading a book about love.

It’s a scary concept, and the thing that scares me the most? The inability to know whether the feelings you have today will still be there next week – or next year – or even in 10 years.

It’s such a leap of faith and it scares the hell out of me.

Clearly i’m not a religious person. Believing in something when there is a proven theory against it just isn’t something i feel capable of. Except in this instance the theory isn’t proven, it just hovers.

(One of those ‘big’ questions – can you get me a whiskey Wonky?)

I’ve been in the position before –  i know what it’s like to have such strong feelings for someone and then one day, just like that, you don’t any more. I know it’s possible. I know it doesn’t have to be, but nevertheless, i know it can.

And so i don’t know how to trust my own feelings.

The True Meaning of Valentine’s Day

13 Feb

Ah, the feast of Saint Valentine, that one day of the year where women everywhere, all over the world, celebrate their freedom and independence in overwrought consumerism.

It’s a day to really sit up and take stock. To make yourself a cocktail, have a lovely meal and be thankful for all those loser boyfriends you could have ended up with, and all those unhealthy relationships you managed to wangle yourself out of.

I like to wander down the aisles of my local card shops and look at all the cards with insistent messages of love,  such as ‘how many women does it take to change a light bulb?’ and then you open up the card and inside it reads ‘just one, it was easy, and because you keep lists, you remembered to buy the bulb when you went to the supermarket’.

Its beauty brings tears to my eyes, truly, as i think about how lucky i am to have me.

While there are certainly no lack of men in my life, and wonderful men at that, there is something so fortunate (and maybe egocentric – does that mean i’m becoming French?) about having only yourself to think about – only yourself to please and only yourself to make you happy. If you spend long enough with yourself, you will eventually even be able to laugh at all your own jokes, even if deep down you know that they are not so funny.

That’s love.

And if it gets cold at night? Well that’s why god invented booty calls.

And hot water bottles.

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….