I was sad to leave. I felt like I’d dropped out mid-sentence, just when we were getting to the verbs. I went back to Dublin to meet my girlfriend and my mood was less than ebullient. I felt bad and tried to turn it on for her, but I couldn’t shake the comedown from such an awesome experience. I had to go back to where my sister lived immediately after, as we had tickets to a show in London later that week.
Off to Edinburgh for the weekend, I had again, a couple of days to kill before going back to the UK for my flight home. We’d been texting, and drunkenly I asked if you missed me and if you wanted me to come back. You said you did, but were starting classes and couldn’t be with me during the day. I assured you I’d be fine, and booked a flight for the next day. When you picked me up at the train in Sligo, the sun was just setting over the town, and I wondered how our reunion would play out. After some witty banter about me being Batman (because of my sunglasses and penchant for wearing black), versus you being my sidekick Robin, things were very much playing out as they had left off.
Stopping for some Chinese food on our way to another remote country cottage, we saw a tractor parked in town as I pondered what Chinese food would taste like in small town Ireland. I had bought some bottles of wine during my one night stay in Dublin before taking the train, and our picnic complete, we took off into the sunset, driving through dirt roads on the emerald green fields in the countryside. Wowed by yet another beautiful view of the remote and rugged terrain, I had some trouble concentrating on our conversation, but you made it easy, and before long we'd made it to another cute country cottage.
Greeted by yet another friend of yours we made ourselves at home in the chill and the candelight of our 17th century cottage, bereft of electricity. We cuddled a bit and watched TV while visiting with your friend after dinner, and then retired to our room, which you had fitted out with dozens of tea lights, which you kept in your car? Impressed at your preparedness, I knew what to expect, but those expectations were totally surpassed in that little country cottage.
The next day after dropping me at Sligo for the day, we met up after your classes at a pub in town. I had already made quite a few friends, and could tell you were jealous. You swaggered in and sat right down beside me, as the occupant was in the loo. I smiled and told you you couldn’t sit there, and you grabbed me and asked me if I wanted to get out of there with you. Did I ever. We went for dinner at a little Italian place, and shared a dish, our aspirations, dreams, and what we thought we’d be doing at this time next year. It made me sure I was going to have an even harder time leaving the next day.
We couldn’t wait to get back to the cottage and made like high school kids in the back of your station wagon on an abandoned road in the country as the sun set. Continuing our party at home, we opened the blinds to reveal a backdrop of stars, clear as day without city lights. I could feel time running out. I hardly slept, wanting to hold those last few moments in my hands, feel your arms holding me from leaving.
I had to catch the train early the next day, and groggy in the dawn, you held me from going. We were almost late, but we made time for breakfast at a cute little café, and I gave you my email address. Deep down, I knew it would peter out, but I didn’t want to believe it.
When I got back to my sister’s place, I cried. Had I just left the best thing I’d ever had? I would never know. We didn’t have enough time. But the time we had was amazing. I think about it fondly, whenever I’m down and out and wondering where Mr. Right might be. Because I know there are amazing guys out there like you, and that gives me hope.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Lawrence, and I just want to thank you for being so good to me. I don’t find it very often, but I did that day in that crowded bar in Dublin, and you gave me the experience of a lifetime.
xo
A
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
dear larry
That night, in Dublin, you weren’t my first offer. Some guys we had been sitting with offered to take me golfing on the couple of days I had free after my sister left. I love golfing, and they were very nice guys. You were standing by yourself, no one around, in the middle of a busy bar. Or maybe, that’s how I saw you. The grin on your face was mysterious, and my sister spoke to you first, told me you claimed to be from Belgique. The accent wasn’t so far off, but when I tried to speak to you in French, the blank look on your face told me you were throwing me a load of blarney. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, intrigued, but not enough to digest why you’d try to pass yourself off as someone else. When I got back, you asked me if I liked to surf. Wondering why, I, of course couldn’t answer yes or no, had to answer a question with a question. Finally you asked me if I wanted to go surfing with you, the day after next. I just said yes.
When I tried to call the next day to arrange our meeting spot, I was really nervous. I felt like I was calling a boy for the first time, and even though you’d asked me, I didn’t know why. I had to call 4 times, and ask the guy at the front desk how to even dial, as I had no idea. I finally got through, and we planned to meet the next day.
Trinity College is a big place in the middle of busy Dublin, I saw you right away, tall with windswept hair and a smattering of freckles with those mischievous green eyes. You didn’t see me right away, so I followed you into the stone courtyard till you turned around and saw me standing in the middle, waiting for you. I followed you back to your car, and carried my own bag, even after you offered twice. Typical surfer boy, you were wearing flip flops, had a station wagon complete with a surf board inside and sand everywhere. The drive was four hours, and I had brought some roadies just in case. The countryside was beautiful as we drove across Ireland, and we even met some gypsies along the way (they were kind enough to wave back at us with their middle fingers). You told me about your family, and I told you about mine. The conversation was easy, and the ride went fast. When we got to Strandhill, that little beach town on the edge of the northwest coast, the sun was low, and it was windy but beautiful. We got out to walk on the sand barefoot, check out the surf, and then drove up to your friend’s cozy cottage.
You made me feel at home, you warned me about his big dog, offered me tea, and sat me down to smoke a joint, have a tea, and throw around some bullshit with your buddy. You arranged for a surf board and wetsuit for me and we drove out to the spot. Cows munching on grass bordering the rocky beach, I felt like I was in another world. The freezing water didn’t even faze me. I was surfing in Ireland in September with a gorgeous boy I had just met. It was fabulous. We each changed on either side of the car, and when I got back in, I was freezing. You touched my eyelashes, amazed at the power of waterproof mascara. And then you kissed me. Softly, it sent chills down my spine. I opened my eyes and saw yours closed.
We went for dinner and then met with some of your friends at a pub, where real Irish musicians were jamming together. I wanted more kisses and so did you. We both agreed we weren’t the PDA type of people, but we couldn’t help ourselves. After going back to your friend’s cottage, we sat around and smoked some more, but I was tuckered and went to bed. You automatically assumed we would share, and I’m glad for it. You cuddled up to me, holding me close, still chilled from surfing in the cold. We didn’t waste time, and I’m glad because it was one of the best nights of my life.
I had to leave the next day, quite early as I had planned to meet a girlfiend in Dublin and couldn’t reschedule. You begged me to stay the weekend, come out to a surf festival with you. It was the hardest 'no' of my life. I wanted to drop everything, stay with you, drive around finding surf spots, camping out where we could, smoking irish spliffs, living like gypsies, warm in your arms. But I had to go.
(to be continued….)
When I tried to call the next day to arrange our meeting spot, I was really nervous. I felt like I was calling a boy for the first time, and even though you’d asked me, I didn’t know why. I had to call 4 times, and ask the guy at the front desk how to even dial, as I had no idea. I finally got through, and we planned to meet the next day.
Trinity College is a big place in the middle of busy Dublin, I saw you right away, tall with windswept hair and a smattering of freckles with those mischievous green eyes. You didn’t see me right away, so I followed you into the stone courtyard till you turned around and saw me standing in the middle, waiting for you. I followed you back to your car, and carried my own bag, even after you offered twice. Typical surfer boy, you were wearing flip flops, had a station wagon complete with a surf board inside and sand everywhere. The drive was four hours, and I had brought some roadies just in case. The countryside was beautiful as we drove across Ireland, and we even met some gypsies along the way (they were kind enough to wave back at us with their middle fingers). You told me about your family, and I told you about mine. The conversation was easy, and the ride went fast. When we got to Strandhill, that little beach town on the edge of the northwest coast, the sun was low, and it was windy but beautiful. We got out to walk on the sand barefoot, check out the surf, and then drove up to your friend’s cozy cottage.
You made me feel at home, you warned me about his big dog, offered me tea, and sat me down to smoke a joint, have a tea, and throw around some bullshit with your buddy. You arranged for a surf board and wetsuit for me and we drove out to the spot. Cows munching on grass bordering the rocky beach, I felt like I was in another world. The freezing water didn’t even faze me. I was surfing in Ireland in September with a gorgeous boy I had just met. It was fabulous. We each changed on either side of the car, and when I got back in, I was freezing. You touched my eyelashes, amazed at the power of waterproof mascara. And then you kissed me. Softly, it sent chills down my spine. I opened my eyes and saw yours closed.
We went for dinner and then met with some of your friends at a pub, where real Irish musicians were jamming together. I wanted more kisses and so did you. We both agreed we weren’t the PDA type of people, but we couldn’t help ourselves. After going back to your friend’s cottage, we sat around and smoked some more, but I was tuckered and went to bed. You automatically assumed we would share, and I’m glad for it. You cuddled up to me, holding me close, still chilled from surfing in the cold. We didn’t waste time, and I’m glad because it was one of the best nights of my life.
I had to leave the next day, quite early as I had planned to meet a girlfiend in Dublin and couldn’t reschedule. You begged me to stay the weekend, come out to a surf festival with you. It was the hardest 'no' of my life. I wanted to drop everything, stay with you, drive around finding surf spots, camping out where we could, smoking irish spliffs, living like gypsies, warm in your arms. But I had to go.
(to be continued….)
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
lockdown
Just giving away the milk has not been working for me lately. obviously. I'm a girl who likes to have fun, doesn't really know the meaning of no, and only sees when she's gone too far in hindsight. How would I even know if I got what I asked for for Christmas if I can only see looking back and not when it's right in front of me. What does this mean, literally? I think, trying to only give my milk to the right milkman when I know it's the right milkman. A little dribble now and then to a milkman who feels the same as I do - unpropriatry - i think is okay. I'm not going to flog myself for this. But i don't want to be a dry cow and put out to pasture before I'm thirty. A little far with the analogy, I know. I want to see straight, basically, and I can't see anything with all these little distractions in front of me. If the lockdown helps me to have a clearer perspective, I'm all for it. Of course, old habits are hard to break, and I only hope I will persevere in this endeavor. Not calling this a New Years resolution, 'cause it's not New Years yet; calling this a small kindness to myself (dependant on the outcome). Let's see what happens..........
Monday, December 21, 2009
ghosts of christmas past
The best gift I ever gave……was probably something I made when I was little and gave to my mommy out of pure love and not the materialistic shit I purchase with my maxxed out credit card nowadays.
My most inspiring holiday moment…..was getting really stoned with all of my cousins on Christmas Eve and revelling in the snowy world, the glowy lights and the sense of togetherness we had from trying to conceal how high we really were when we got home to our drunken parents.
The worst gift I ever got…..came from Santa and was wrapped in the same Christmas paper I had previously discovered while snooping in my Grandparents closet. That’s the year I discovered Santa wasn’t real.
If I could sit on Santa’s lap I’d ask for……What? I still can’t sit on Santa’s lap? Bump that. Last time I sat on Santa’s lap, I was eighteen and I asked him for a texas mickey of Rye. This time I’d ask him for a car that has no broken signal lights and where I can lift the hood so I can actually use windshield washer fluid and get an oil change. For fantasy’s sakes, it’d be a very cool 78’ oldsmobile pimped out snoop doggy style. Then I could wear my furs and fedora with it and rep like I’m already an eccentric old lady. Cane required.
One time I stood under the mistletoe……and wished that the first boy I loved still loved me. It took me a long long time to realize that even if I got that kiss, it didn’t mean what it used to. And, that no kiss would ever come from that place when you love someone with so much naïveté, you can’t ever imagine that they would do anything to hurt you or you them. And, you look back and can’t believe you didn’t enjoy it more at the time.
One time, when I drank spiked egg nog……one time? Come on now, many times during the holidays when I drink spiked and straight anything, my family likes to play inappropriate games where you realize your grandma might still be getting lucky and the form response to most questions is ‘hookers and booze’. Obviously being drunk is required.
My most inspiring holiday moment…..was getting really stoned with all of my cousins on Christmas Eve and revelling in the snowy world, the glowy lights and the sense of togetherness we had from trying to conceal how high we really were when we got home to our drunken parents.
The worst gift I ever got…..came from Santa and was wrapped in the same Christmas paper I had previously discovered while snooping in my Grandparents closet. That’s the year I discovered Santa wasn’t real.
If I could sit on Santa’s lap I’d ask for……What? I still can’t sit on Santa’s lap? Bump that. Last time I sat on Santa’s lap, I was eighteen and I asked him for a texas mickey of Rye. This time I’d ask him for a car that has no broken signal lights and where I can lift the hood so I can actually use windshield washer fluid and get an oil change. For fantasy’s sakes, it’d be a very cool 78’ oldsmobile pimped out snoop doggy style. Then I could wear my furs and fedora with it and rep like I’m already an eccentric old lady. Cane required.
One time I stood under the mistletoe……and wished that the first boy I loved still loved me. It took me a long long time to realize that even if I got that kiss, it didn’t mean what it used to. And, that no kiss would ever come from that place when you love someone with so much naïveté, you can’t ever imagine that they would do anything to hurt you or you them. And, you look back and can’t believe you didn’t enjoy it more at the time.
One time, when I drank spiked egg nog……one time? Come on now, many times during the holidays when I drink spiked and straight anything, my family likes to play inappropriate games where you realize your grandma might still be getting lucky and the form response to most questions is ‘hookers and booze’. Obviously being drunk is required.
Monday, December 14, 2009
weekend jekyll
When I get asked at work how my weekend was, my response usually ranges from a vague ‘good’ to the ever ambiguous ‘busy’. I wonder if they notice the little twinkle in my eye when I think back on the snapshots of my weekend, suppressing giggles just thinking about all of the naughty/fun/rawkus/ weird things I got into:
cozy at home with my friend eating goat cheese pizza and drinking winter spice.
sliding into the side of a cab boxing my ears between the door and the cab….requisite drinking injury.
outside a club, way too early, bouncer refuses to card us, we realize we’re the only ones there over the age of 19.
drinking shots of wild turkey, dancing at the next spot, lesbian grabs my waist and whispers something in my ear, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen enough for one night.
wake up feeling not as rough as anticipated meeting some friends for greasy breakfast and deciding a course of caesars is required. When it’s -26 degrees Celsius, the only thing to do during the day is drink. No wonder Canadians invented caesars.
deciding that the prescribed course of action should also involve naked dancing girls, we head to the peelers.
realize that it’s so cold that guys won’t even come out to ogle strippers and we are the only people watching the show. Creepy.
generously two of us decide to spend ten dollars worth of loonies on the dancer. My visiting friend is shocked that launching the coins at the dancer is ‘normal’ in Alberta.
on to the next spot, we rack up a $200 drinking tab before 4 pm.
friend drives us home in the frigid cold. Kisses me goodbye on the lips?
12 hours of drinking later, back at my place, friend asks me if I want to Hawaiian hot box my bathroom. Ummmm, yes. Then he proceeds to get naked. Obviously the next portion is x rated.
drinking port and eating gingerbread cookies on a Sunday night, dreading the cold and the fact that tomorrow is Monday, but cozy and warm together in my humble adobe.
cozy at home with my friend eating goat cheese pizza and drinking winter spice.
sliding into the side of a cab boxing my ears between the door and the cab….requisite drinking injury.
outside a club, way too early, bouncer refuses to card us, we realize we’re the only ones there over the age of 19.
drinking shots of wild turkey, dancing at the next spot, lesbian grabs my waist and whispers something in my ear, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen enough for one night.
wake up feeling not as rough as anticipated meeting some friends for greasy breakfast and deciding a course of caesars is required. When it’s -26 degrees Celsius, the only thing to do during the day is drink. No wonder Canadians invented caesars.
deciding that the prescribed course of action should also involve naked dancing girls, we head to the peelers.
realize that it’s so cold that guys won’t even come out to ogle strippers and we are the only people watching the show. Creepy.
generously two of us decide to spend ten dollars worth of loonies on the dancer. My visiting friend is shocked that launching the coins at the dancer is ‘normal’ in Alberta.
on to the next spot, we rack up a $200 drinking tab before 4 pm.
friend drives us home in the frigid cold. Kisses me goodbye on the lips?
12 hours of drinking later, back at my place, friend asks me if I want to Hawaiian hot box my bathroom. Ummmm, yes. Then he proceeds to get naked. Obviously the next portion is x rated.
drinking port and eating gingerbread cookies on a Sunday night, dreading the cold and the fact that tomorrow is Monday, but cozy and warm together in my humble adobe.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
xmas wish list
Dear Santa,
If having fun constitutes as naughty, I fully admit to being a bad girl. Although this admission predicates coal in my stocking, you would think that a 24 year old girl’s belief in Santa alone would be rewarded with at least a little sumthin’ sumthin’. And not the ’bow chick a wow wow’ sumthin’ you’re probably thinking. Although that would be nice. On a regular basis. If you deem me to be really really good, maybe you can remember that. Anyways, if after observing my behaviour since last Christmas , you think I might be worthy of something in your fat sack of presents and want to come down my chimney, here’s a list- filled with some things definitely fantasy, but most, definitely do-able. Especially if you’re really as magical as they say you are.
If having fun constitutes as naughty, I fully admit to being a bad girl. Although this admission predicates coal in my stocking, you would think that a 24 year old girl’s belief in Santa alone would be rewarded with at least a little sumthin’ sumthin’. And not the ’bow chick a wow wow’ sumthin’ you’re probably thinking. Although that would be nice. On a regular basis. If you deem me to be really really good, maybe you can remember that. Anyways, if after observing my behaviour since last Christmas , you think I might be worthy of something in your fat sack of presents and want to come down my chimney, here’s a list- filled with some things definitely fantasy, but most, definitely do-able. Especially if you’re really as magical as they say you are.
- A beer tap beside my water tap. At this time of year, filled with Winter Spice, but changeable with the season, and for my taste, slightly (just a touch) flat.
- A teleporter. So I never have to drive, or think about catching a flight ever again-and see my sister just for the weekend whenever I’d like. If they can do it in that T.V. show- Star Trek- you can definitely do it.
- A maid. No, no, not one that’s around all the time and comes to my beck and call. Just a once a month, deep cleaning, fanatically detail oriented cleaning lady who has big arms with which to scrub and laser eyes with which to see those microscopic dirt mites.
- Access to borrow basically any item of clothing I would like. Then I could dress as fantastically as I’d like, and never wear the same thing twice-unless I want to.
- Tall, dark, handsome, nice, accomplished, likes to sit around with the newspaper and not speak with me all morning while cuddling in front of the fire. Likes to drive and travel, reads real books, dresses not like a slob-perhaps even a bit fashionably, nice to my family and friends, able to be social, but set his own boundaries and respect mine- Man. Not boy. Not man-boy.
- A weed plant that grows in my house, but I don’t have to water it or take care of it, and it produces grade-A ganja.
I just want to remind you that, over the years, I’m the one who leaves you some really nice over 15 year aged single malt scotch, as well as a beer and some yummy cookies and carrots for your reindeer. Hope you’re having fun ramping up to the big day. Thanks again for giving me what I asked for last year—six packs of Winter Spice. It was a little late, but gratefully received nonetheless. Do you like cigars? Maybe I’ll leave you a Cuban I got while in Mexico this year. Also wondering, do you have x ray vision to see what we’re all doing? You must get a good show.
Hope your yearly endeavour goes off without a hitch this year.
Best Wishes,
Amber
xoxoxo
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