Pride.

My buddy Rockhead called tonight. We have been pals since forever. Platonic friends; he's one of the few men who has never, ever hit on me. Even when we went down to Mexico and got really drunk together. He's a geologist, and loves to argue politics.

He asked me what was new in my life. Sadly, I didn't have much to report...even my date for tonight backed out. Rockhead said he just got back from another Mexico trip, and asked me how my trip to London had gone, so I told him all about the incredible time I'd had. I mentioned that Mr UK had offered to fly me back again, but that it felt like too big a hit to my pride. Rockhead said: "pride doesn't buy you any plane tickets." Bastard. I hate it when people point things out so succinctly.



******Next day edit*******

I shoulda known better than to go looking for Rockhead's sympathy on this one. He flew me to Mexico last fall, and paid for the hotel and such. He's done that for several people, though, and says we can pay him back whenever. He really doesn't seem to care if any of us ever get him the actual cash. He says he doesn't want to waste his timeshare weeks, but he doesn't like going alone. I still owe him a bundle. It's quite a bit different, though; I WILL pay him back, eventually, and he will let me. I am not singled out for the special treatment, and I completely understand why Rockhead would do that. His motives are crystal clear.

Of course, Mr UK phoned not ten minutes after Rockhead and I hung up. It was 3am his time, but he said he was thinking of me. He "just called to say goodnight".

**melt**

He is such a sweetie.

It wound up being a long, interesting, and strangely intimate conversation about our history, the nature of our relationship, and the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. I had sort of been trying to keep all that emotional stuff out of things, but you know, maybe that's part of why I don't want to accept his gifts anymore. It just seems cheap and manipulative to accept such lavish gifts when there's no emotional connection. I know it is silly, but it feels different if there's love involved...

Preening...

Well, Mr UK may have created a monster. I spent all of last night and most of today working away at the tutorials he sent me, and I think I am getting the hang of it. I looovvvee a challenge. I am making it fun, by coding up little webpage 'cards' to send him, and inserting hidden naughty comments that he will only see if he checks the actual code. I think he is shaking his head at me, but I won't be motivated to actually do anything with it unless I have a fun way to practice.

No real updates on the dating front. I am going for dinner with another POF guy on Thursday, and have no idea how this one is going to go. We sent about six emails back and forth about food and cooking. I got bored with that, and fired off a cheeky reply; I asked him if he was actually interested in chatting/meeting, or if he was just replying to be polite. Hence the dinner date. I haven't talked to him on the phone. his profile is not terribly informative, except for stating that he can and does use multi-syllabic language. It's a start, I suppose.

I spoke with Mr UK on the phone last night and today. I wish we lived in the same place. Even if dating wouldn't work out, I love the conversations we have.

He wanted to know when I would come over again. He thought maybe April would work well. He offered to pay, again. Suggested we go to Paris or Berlin.

Aargh.

You know, I just can't do it.

I loved the idea...once. But I'd feel like I was taking advantage of him if I let him keep flying me back and forth. I mean, he's got a good job, but he's not rich. I know I'm absolutely amazing, but I'm not certain I am worth that. It's a tough one, it really is. But I'm afraid I have too much respect for both of us to carry on like that.

At least, that's how I see it when I'm feeling tall and strong tonight. I may revise that opinion when I'm horribly lonely and bored again...

Moth to a flame...

This cold is killing me. Quite literally, I'm afraid. I've been coughing till I throw up the last three days. I can't even focus my eyes to read, let alone post, which sucks, as I am totally bored with being sick.

Of course, as I haven't had the energy to drag my butt off the couch, I haven't been doing much on the dating front. In fact, I've been thinking about getting some adult diapers so that I don't have to bother dragging my sorry butt to the toilet, but that'd mean going all the way to the store. As you might guess, my overall motivation for anything much beyond breathing is pretty minimal.

I did call M last night, though.

I don't know if it's a mistake to stay in contact, but I can't seem to stop myself. Going to London set off a small existential crisis for me...I realised how dissatisfied I am with my current career and locale. Mr UK brought it up a couple times while I was there, and I hate to admit it, but he's right: I'm unhappy here. I was not happy living in London, either, but London had some huge advantages. For instance, here in Ruralville, 'culture' consists of the Classic Car Show in June and Rodeo Week in August. 'Painting' is what you do to the barn. Big conversational topics include trucks, fishing, and guns. "The Gallery" is where you go for target practice. Yeah, London was way cooler, that way...

As a feminist who fixes her own car and loves reading, Arab culture, and Dali, I am something of a freak here.

I spoken to Mom and a couple of girlfriends about this. Mom tends to go the 'whatever makes you happy, dear' route, which is not helpful when I'm looking for advice. My girlfriends are great, but sometimes live vicariously through me, which means they tend to advise me to do what would make them happy.

M. understands this stuff. He's one of the few who do. He knows when to shut up and listen, too, and just let me work things out for myself in conversation. And he knows me well enough to give a pertinent, considered opinion when I do get around to asking for it.

The conversation went suprisingly well. Relationship stuff didn't come up. We were talking about 'personal' stuff, but not personal stuff pertaining to "us". He listened, made all the appropriate noises during the appropriate conversational pauses, and generally acted like he cared. Without trying to talk me into bed. I actually felt better by the time I hung up the phone.

Unfortunately, if I were to move, my first choice of cities would be the one he lives in. Which adds sooo much potential for complication. I mean, we have a hard enough time staying away from each other when we live 200km apart. Imagine if we lived in the same neighbourhood?

Anyhow, it's all academic until I put in the transfer papers, and I'm going to consider this one for awhile before making any drastic moves.

Damn him for understanding me so well, though...

Airplanes and Hair Dye

Well, hell flight knocked a round out of me, as usual. The cold didn't help.

I'm happy to be home.

Tired to the point of hallucinating, but glad I went.

Mr. UK left me a sweet parting memory. I've been talking for ages about dying my hair, but I have always been too chicken. What if I don't like it? Well, I decided to go ahead and try. Mr. UK sat in the bathroom with me, reading out the instructions while I gobbed the gunk into my hair. Eventually, he decided I was missing too many spots, and got involved. There's something strangely intimate about having a guy wash your hair, or, in this case, work the dye in, then wash it out. It led to a great deal of less-mentionable activity, which is also good. I do double-takes when I see myself in the mirror...doesn't quite look like me, and it will probably remind me of him for quite awhile.

I went to London with 'cheap and dirty' in my head, and wound up with sweet and romantic. Mr. UK was wonderful. I am suprisingly unemotional about the whole thing, though. I am terrible at seperating sex and love, but for once, I just feel like a had a great week with a good friend, and really nothing more. No yearning to be with him, no wishing for the phone call. Just...content.

Ask me again in a week when I'm unbearably horny, though, and I might have a different opinion...

Thrush...

Go figure, the sore throat of a couple of days ago has morphed into a full-on head cold, complete with hacking cough. Oral sex is NOT FUN with a sore throat and chesty cough...granted, HE'LL take the choking as a compliment, but still...

They say sex boosts your immune system. I can't imagine what sort of shape I'd be in if I weren't currently getting it three times a day.

To top it all off, I got a yeast infection. I NEVER get yeast infections, ever. Or at least most of the time, or certainly never when I'm not getting laid. Figures.

In Britian, they don't call them yeast infections.

Now, I have traveled a lot, and have effectively managed to pantomime "I need Immodium NOW' in more countries than I care to remember. I've managed it without excessive embarassment, even. Amazing what you can accomplish when you have that kind of pressing motivation.

However, I have to admit I faltered when trying to explain THIS ONE to an 80-year-old lady at Boots drugstore, especially when we theoretically speak the same language.

For the record, I'm more competent in French than British; at least in French, I know how to order a coffee with milk. That and how to ask where the washroom is. That's the extent of my French, mind you, but both of those things in British have stymied me. "Loo" and "white coffee" were not part of my vocabulary until recently.

The Boots lady was deaf, for starters, and clearly couldn't understand my accent anyway. They don't use the same terminology here as back home. She took me to the cough syrup aisle, clearly making an educated guess and not understanding a damn thing I was trying to say to her. I was afraid that I was going to have to resort to making funny faces and vigorously scratching my crotch. I wound up trying to explain, at the top of my lungs, that I had a common infection 'DOWN THERE', and knew for a fact that there is an over-the-counter remedy. If only I had been bright enough to start throwing out brand names, like 'Canesten'...

After several frustrating minutes (and attracting a small but very amused crowd), she finally caught on.

"Oh," She said with a kindly granny smile, "Why didn't you just SAY you had thrush?"

AAARRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!

Oops.

Mr UK got a text message last night. We were in a pub at the time. He very nearly blew his beer right out his nose. Giggling, he handed his phone to me.

It was a message from his flatmate. It read:

"Christ! Bath tub not made for sex! So glad you found that out and not me! I think we'll get crummy builder to fix it, eh? I will call them tomorrow if you haven't already..."

Oops.

But, really, what do they expect us to do with a 2-man corner tub? I don't know if the Brits are too 'propah' to do it in the tub, but in Canada, I guarantee that the builder would take one look at that puppy and think "yup, someone's just gonna have to fuck in that" and frame it in with 4x4's. Hell, depending on the builder, they'd probably test it for themselves.

I took one look at it and knew. Mr UK didn't have to be told twice. Hell, the flatmate's been dreaming about it for ages, apparently, and as soon as she gets her Aussie boyfriend over the pond, she intends to test the repairs. It's obvious what that tub is meant for. It even has a butt-shaped indent in the corner.

And now, a 2-inch gap between the tub and the wall...

Oops.

Spoiled Rotten

Day three:

I got sick. Damn contagious kids - the friends who are watching my dog have two little girls, and one of them was snotty and coughing when I went over to drop off the mutt. And wanted to hug and kiss Auntie (me) goodbye before the plane ride. Ugh.

Woke up with a clogged head and a sore throat. Mr UK fed me vitamins and tucked me in to go back to sleep. I finally got up sometime after noon, and hung out in his living room, fire on and wrapped in an afghan, playing on the computer. He sent random texts and email notes from work, checking that I was okay, comfortable, and knew where everything was.

Eventually, when I was feeling like a human being again, he invited me to join him and a friend for a drink. We had a couple pints in a pub, then headed out for Vietnamese.

Mr UK is nothing if not a gentleman. I'd forgotten about that. Standing on the bus, he had a hand across my lower back, in that way that just quietly says 'I am here'. He holds doors and your jacket. And that holding hands thing is sweet. Won't let me pay for a damn thing, either.

Today, he took the morning off work to just hang out, as I have plans for the evening that don't include him. He's not jealous or demanding, but is quietly maximising our time together. He made coffee, and we sat and just chatted for hours. He is fussing about me knowing how to get around by myself on the tube.

I am soooo spoiled...

I wish...

I hadn't quite forgotten how comfortable it can be to just hang out with a guy. But I didn't quite remember how much I really do enjoy it.

We went out for Indian last night. We looked over the menu, discussed what we liked best, then he ordered. For both of us.

We had an intense discussion, bordering on arguement, about religion, feminism, and politics, over our mango lhassi's and chicken korma. I love that verbal sparring with someone who is as smart as I am. We'll never convince each other, but it's fun to try.

We walked home in the London rain, and he reached out to hold my hand.

I fell asleep with my head on his chest, and woke with his arm still around me.

Too bad I have to go home in a week...

London Day One

The plane ride was pure hell.

I hadn't had any sleep...I only started packing at midnight. I had to be up early to drop off the dog. My flight was delayed. My period came mid-flight. Thank god I always keep an emergency tampon.

Mr. UK was waiting at the gate, gave a big hug and kiss, and I really don't remember the hour tube ride to his place.

I remember the couple hours after that...very nice...but his bedroom looked like a CSI crime scene...

Just Friends?

I have a lot of guy friends. Almost every job I've ever had has been in 'non-traditional', male-domiated type field. To be honest, I never really got the hang of relating to most women...I'm a little too blunt, and haven't got any time at all for coyness or head games. I have a few amazing girlfriends, but, for the most part, I prefer to hang out with 'the guys'.

This is not usually a problem.

I have a few guy friends who I wonder about, though.

G. and I started hanging out because I drove a beater car. It broke down about twice a month. G. is a backyard mechanic, and someone suggested I take my car to him. I did, but the whole time he was fixing stuff, I was hanging over his shoulder asking questions. Eventually, I asked him to teach me to do it myself. He didn't really believe me...in this bible-belt small town, women just don't DO that sort of thing. It took me awhile to convince him that I REALLY wouldn't DIE if I broke a fingernail. I think I finally won him over when I did, in fact break a fingernail, right down to the meat. Instead of dying, I cursed. A lot. Loudly. Creatively. And apparently better than most truckers.

G. and I spent a lot of time fixing that stupid car, and got to be great pals. His wife invited me over for Sunday dinners. I paid his son to do my yardwork. His daughter hung out at my place when she hit puberty and just couldn't STAND her parents. I've spent a ton of time with that family.

G. has decided that my current beater is not safe to take 150 km on cold, snowy highways to the airport when I fly to London tomorrow. He decided he will give me a ride. He won't even entertain the notion of me driving myself. In fact, he didn't even ask me if I wanted a ride - he called me up this afternoon and told me I'd better be packed and ready by ten o'clock.

G. moved awhile back, 100 km in the OTHER direction from the City.

I hadn't really noticed it, but looking back, G. has sneakily started taking care of me. Little things, but stuff that adds up to something little more than 'just pals'. Nothing improper, but enough to make me wonder.

I feel like I'm taking advantage of him, but I don't ask for this stuff.

I don't feel like there's even anything I can say to him about this. He hasn't done anything wrong, just that he's a bit too nice. I value his friendship more than I can say, and love his family to bits. I am certain he'd be hurt if I asked him not to help me out anymore.

If he ever tells me he loves me, though, I'll be forced to kick his ass...

Too Much Honesty?

Poor Mr. UK.


My sister called awhile back, for a chat. I reminded her that I was going to London, and asked her for her shopping list - she lived there for years, and often comments on all the things she just can't find in Canada.

Sis asked me how I could afford the trip, as I had been complaining about being broke for quite awhile. I told her that Mr. UK was paying. Sis laughed - she got us together in the first place, the first time I went overseas to visit her.

"Why won't he buy ME a ticket to London?" She quipped.

"Probably because you won't suck his cock" I replied.

...silence...

"Good Point. Can you get me some tattoo cream from the place down by Holborn Station? He'll know the place I'm talking about"

Really, it wasn't THAT interesting a conversation.

I asked Mr. UK about the shop that Sis was referring to. He said he knew it, then asked if Sis knew I was coming to visit HIM. I told him of course she did.

"Does she know I'm flying you over?" He asked.

"Yup"

"What does she think of that?"

"She wants to know why you won't fly HER over," I replied.

"What did you tell her?"

"That it's probably because she won't suck your cock."

...silence...

...gawk...snrrrrff...cough, CHOKE, sniff...

I could actually hear the coffee spray out his nose from 7,000 miles. Best comic timing I've ever managed.

"You told her WHAT?!?"

"You heard me."

"You DIDN'T...Seriously, say you didn't..."

...poor Mr. UK...

How To Impress a Girl #1

Finally, somebody got one right!

How to Impress a Girl #1

1) Phone up a random ex who you had amazing sex with, and actually still like as a human being. Make sure it's someone you still treat respectfully and have a decent post-relationship friendship with. When you find out she's single, tell her you still think she's totally hot.

2) Invite her to meet you in another country for a weekend. Let her know that, platonic or not, you'd still like to hang out.

3) Offer to pay if she can't afford the flight.

4) Let her hum and haw and say no, that it just seems too cheap and dirty to contemplate.

5) Explore the cheap and dirty theme in a four-hour intercontinental phone marathon that leaves her sitting in a puddle and too horny to actually think straight. Remind her how much fun cheap and dirty can actually be.

6) Send the flight confirmation by email. Book it for the week of Valentine's.



Mr. UK obviously knows me entirely too well. I spent my night dancing around the house, pacing in shocked disbelief. I mean, it's one thing to talk hypothetically, and another thing entirely to come home from a crappy Friday at work to find flight confirmations in your inbox. How lovely!

Now I know this is going to end, but it doesn't have to end badly. Mr. UK and I have had an ongoing thing for years, and we always seem to have a great time. Except that we are both stubborn, opinionated people, who rarely actually agree on much of anything. We have about three weeks' worth of playing nice before one or the other of us picks a fight. Never anything serious, but enough to take a break from speaking to each other for a month or two. It's not really so bad, though, since I hate London, and never seem to spend more than a week there at a time, and he hates Canada, and rarely comes here. So, we hook up for a week at a time, here and there, have a ball, then drop it until one of us needs a vacation from whatever reality is annoying us at the moment. And there's enough trust and honesty in the relationship make for an incredibly uninhibited week-long romp, every time.

So I suppose that puts a kibosh on dating for a few weeks. I mean, how can I realistically go out with a random online boy and give him any sort of a chance? Sorry, guys, but I will be spending my dinner date with you thinking about someone else, someplace else, which is totally unfair.

Mr. UK was fussing about doing it up properly for Valentine's, since I occasionally get funny about those sorts of holidays. I told him, in all honesty, that he'd already make my month, and no special dinner out was necessary. I told him we could have a picnic on his living room floor, for all I cared. Apparently, I am now booked for said picnic, with a champagne appetizer, me for the main course, and a jar of chocolate sauce for dessert. Yeah, I think coffee at the local bookstore is going to pale in comparason...

Sugar Daddy

So Lava boy J. invited me out last night, for a coffee at the bookstore. It was nice. We went for a nice dinner, and had a nice chat. He is very nice. So nice, he doesn't even watch horror movies - they creep him out - he's...sensitive.

I can't figure out what streak of masochism I have that requires a guy in my life who is at least capable of a little viciousness. I mean, J is great to have conversations with, and is very stimulating on an intellectual level, but really I can't imagine him pinning me up against the wall and having his way with me. And, dammit, I like that...

So I called Beavis, as he is definitely NOT nice, not calling when he said he would call, and continuing to not call for so long after that incrediby intense road trip I took a little while back...He mentioned he'd been 'indisposed'. He managed to fake a cough. Then mentioned it was nice when I called. I suggested that if he wanted me to keep calling, he needed to either call when he says he will call, or let me know he's not interested, so I can quit running up my long-distance bill to no constructive purpose. He says he's been ignoring everyone lately. See? Definitely not nice. I will probably go for another random road trip to his town the next time I'm lonely, too, even if it is a bad idea...

My history is coming back to haunt me in the best possible way, however. I got a call recently from a former lover in the UK, and he's single again. And has money to spare, apparently. He brought up an old theme of a wild weekend in New York, and I know I can count on him to not be nice. Or at least to only be nice when I want him to be nice. HE will call when he says he is going to call, but can be counted on to say any number of incredibly nasty (nasty-good, mind you) sorts of things. I thought about it. Believe me, did I consider long and hard, but the budget just won't stretch that far. When I told him I couldn't afford it, he suggested doing it on his tab.

I told him I'd think about it.

The thought of meeting in a country neither of us lives in for a wild weekend seems so...dirty. Doing it on a sugar-daddy's dime seems so...dirty and cheap. It makes every self-sufficient feminist bone in my body cringe. It seems so crazy and demeaning. That's SOOO hot...

So I called him back tonight to see if he was serious.

He said that, on second thought, it seems silly to fly him to New York and me to New York when he can just fly me to London for half the price. He suggested the week of Valentine's would work well for him, if I could get the time off work. WTF? Can somebody please pinch me? I think I'm dreaming...

And, he reckons he can fly himself out here for a week and still save money over the NY idea, while getting twice the time together - See? Nice when he needs to be nice...

I plan to speak to him again tomorrow, when he's sober...