Analysis phase

"You said what? TWO months???", six eyes, size of dinner plates, where staring at me in strong disbelief. "But WHY??" their chockedly continued. Well, I answered, and gave a brief introduction to my new philosophy and conviction, announced a few days ago. After I had described my thoughts that a woman needs to refrain from sex to not fool her own feelings, my handsome friend Mr Eastwood sighed silently and muttered "thank God I´m gay".

And after discussions I admitted, that also women (even myself, although I try to keep a very serious attitude, right?), can have temporary sex, but not for very long. Either women loose interest, or they fall in love. We concluded that within the first couple of weeks of dating , there has to be a decision if the guy is going to be dumped (a "shoot"), a friend, a shag or something serious (a "marry"). After this very conscious decision has been made, one is allowed to do whatever, be it insane upside-down gorilla-sex, or intimate candle-lit dinner and creation of something a bit longer lasting.

Well, for the moment I am in the analysis phase with a couple of objects. Dating this sparkling and friendly music-producer that I met last weekend. Cute and fun, but think he will fall into the friend-section. Then I have a rather regular communication over MSN and telephone with a guy that I haven´t met IRL, a bit weird. This is the old Sugardaddy that I met on the net last summer. Yes, the very one getting a fork right up his ass in December.. Plus a few other bubbling things.. Pretty good pipe actually.

We´ll see where it all ends up, in Zoo or in Lady and the Tramp-spirit.

Happy weekend.

Emotions in Motion

No, this is not as romantic as my title implies, but still an interesting observeration. Motion is the common denominator for most things in my life. I move around all the time it feels like sometimes. To my office, from my office, to friends, to Sweden, to Brussels, to the mountains. Motion. Plus it feels like I am also moving mentally all the time. As pretentious as this might sound, it´s like I am constantly developing and understanding more about myself and about life. As in constant motion.

More concretely I am moving a lot on the Hammersmith and City-line. The pink tube line in London. This "motion en rose" has been my main transporter since I moved to this enchanting town 3 years ago. First I lived over in Clerkenwell, going to Edgware Road almost every day. Then I had a little time off when I lived in Bayswater and walked to work in 25 minutes. But since my ex-boyfriend, Mr Black, lived over west, I would take the H&C to the office, for a bit over a year. And after a temporary flirtation with the hot and red and super efficient Central Line who bangs through Londontown like an Aorta, I am back to Pinky again. Ladbroke Grove to Great Portland street (on rainy days only of course, or I am on my black old-style spinster-bike). And I like my tube-line. It´s lazy, not very frequent and stops all the time. But it´s friendly and cute and the tube-stations are beautifully decorated, like Baker Street. And of course very much overground, which an old claustro-maniac like myself loves. I even liked it at 08.51 in the morning, on the 7th of July two years ago, when it came to a complete standstill just after we´ve left Paddington. "There has been a major explosion at Edgware Road, please leave the train slowly, walk back to the station and evacuate". And the polite Londoners left, slowly, quietly and friendly. Even under terrorist attacks, Pinky keeps his style.

And of course. Every morning a very cute guy gets on at my station. And he must live somewhere close to me. So I hope the weather stays drizzling, so I don´t have to go on the bike. So difficult to flirt under a black helmet.

Follow you intuition

Notes to self:

• If you hardly remember a guy from a party
• If you have a feeling that you weren´t too keen when you met the guy in the first place
• If you curse yourself for giving out your telephone number
• If you feel that the guy´s textmessages are weird
• If you agree to go on a date thinking "well, people can always change"

....then you´re fooling yourself, and should be following your instincts better.

The date yesterday was a complete disaster. Hey ho hey ho. And hey hoooo. Never ever wanted so badly to get home quickly. Never ever felt so much ants in my pants, perhaps maybe when I was at Religion-classes at 10 years of age.

Waste of space. American or not.

Bah.

Half-blind date

Date tonight. No expectations whatsoever. Embarrassing, can hardly remember the guy. Met him at the crazy gay-party when I was locked out last week. He is American, I think. And he was rather tall and had brown hair. And was slim and very energetic. A bit like a squirrel, jumping around like mad. Come to think of it, was probably high like the BT tower. I thought he was gay, but I think I remember that he said he just come out of an 8-year relationship with a girl (another SALT, "single after long term relationship", has become another phenomenom in the UK apparently).

For unclear reasons (yes, I was a bit tipsy, trying to forget the key-disaster), I gave him my number. Why?

And he has texted a bit since. Some snow-poems. Eh? Yes, I am a weirdo-attracter. Forget not.

Good to date a yankee-boy though. First time for the Spinster. Maybe I should turn up in my earrings with the American flag? One is shaped as a playboy-bunny, the other as a crucifix. And my white cowboy boots? And pink cowboy hat with crystals on? And then it turns out he is... German? P´raps best to rethink.

God Bless

Lustful Love or Lovely Lust?

"Stop me, stop me, stop me, stop me if you think that you´ve heard this one before", wonderful Morrissey sings for me this sunny London-morning. I am possibly a bit pathetic getting a zing in my tummy when I realize that I actually LIVE in this country that has given birth to so many of my favourite songs.

Anyway, this is NOT a music blog and this little intro has nothing really to do with music. I just came to think of a few old thoughts when I heard these lyrics. So, please dear friends, do stop me if you think that you´ve heard this one before. But I need to ventilate the classic problematics of LOVE and LUST.

Repeatedly, I hear from friends, and not to speak of my own passionate experiences, of the confusion between LUST and LOVE. When I hear or read about women saying: "Our sexlife is fantastic, and even if we argue a lot, this really must be love", I get chills. As a matter of fact, I see warning flags sticking up everywhere around the rooftops. Ok, as you might have understood by now, I am hardly a fridgid who doesn´t like sex, but I am very aware of the risks of getting carried away when the pheromes start to dance around in the head. The whole brain becomes confused and all sort of rational thinking disappears. An ice-bucket over the head can come handy every now and then.

Dear Chablis gave me an article a few months ago. The author was a 26-year old woman who had refrained from having sex with her new boyfriend until SIX months had passed and she was sure of their mutual feelings. She said that this was her only cure of the problem getting a man to stay in a longer perspective. What really isn´t anything new...

What I found more interesting in this is the impact this has on the woman herself. I must admit that women have more problems in separating love and sex. And by waiting, she is not only keeping up the interest of the man, but, a lot more importantly, protecting her own feelings. After an orgasm, the female produces hormones that stimulate warm feelings towards the sex-partner. The body tells the woman to be emotionally close to the potential father of her just contracepted foster. Hence, if you´re in a relationship with great sex, you are is the risk zone of being blind to the rest of the person.

A girlfriend got a little irritated with me when we discussed this. She said, "Well, what if you waste a couple of months only to realize that the sex is useless? Then the relationship is dead anyway!". Ok, I see her point and of course sex is very very important but 1) if you find a man really interesting, you hardly waste time getting to know him, and 2) if the sex isn´t super to start with it can always develop.

My conclusion to this new-purtian-viewpoints (hallelujah) is clear. Girls, refrain from sex as long as you can. Kisses and cuddles and even some snogging-light (grade 1) is allowed. Anyway if you´re looking for a life-partner and not only for some more temporary fun. We plainly need to get better in separating who is a Shag, a Shoot and who is the actual Marry.

Yes, you´ve heard this one before, but a water-drop doesn´t make a hole in the stone by force, but by repetition.

Make Love.

Door's locked to the sacred area

Last Friday I was in a very interesting situation. I met with the Talented Mr Ripley, from now on Mr Young, for drink and some dindins. Very nice. Mr Young was a bit ill so we took it very relaxed. Afterwards we went to my flat ´cos he wanted to see it. "For some tea". And it felt like we might be having some less friendly activities there. But God almighty thought differently. He made the whole thing impossible by fiddling with the Spinster´s keys. As it happens, the Spinster, in a flux of extreme intelligence on Friday morning, managed to push in her own keys through the little opening below the flat-door. Why? Well she was thinking that it was bloody unneccesary to carry around two sets of keys all day. Only pb was that the other set in her yellow handbag was the office-keys. Which the Spinster realized when she came to work. But the Spinster was cool and non-worried. It would be no problem whatsoever to jerk the keys back from the opening again.

But the real problem emerged when Mr Young and I was going in to my house. My not-so-intelligent-brain hadn´t thought of the fact that the keys are also needed to get into the first door. The house-door. So we just stood there in the cold and came nowhere. And the whole night ended with Mr Young taking a cab home and myself having to spend the night at at gay 40-th party on the Hill with Chablis (whom I was going to camp with until the morning when I could bang my neighbours´ doors). So God decided himself that mr Young and I were not going to cuddle up on my sofa sipping on some green tea and discussing philosophy. Which was just as well. Fate is in my hand.

It feels a little bit like my new flat is going to be a sacred area, where no skimpy activities are going to happen. So far, no men-men (friend-men do not count) have been there and hence no skimpiness. And I will keep it this way.

Past, present or future?

Weekend is here, I am moved to the new bohemian flat, utterly single and the spring-sun is shining. I have a swanky gay party in Notting Hill happening tonight and two parties tomorrow. Both with potential flirt material. For lunch today I treated myself to a pretty spring-dress, a bit of 50-ties lolita meets 70-ties hippie. Very very cute. Sunday I am off to Norway for 1-weeks skiing with parents and sister´s family. And for easter the best massive are going to Verbier for a party-skiing-glamour champagne-drenched long weekend. And I am getting a white Boeri-helmet with Swarovski crystals to be the coolest on the slopes.

Not a hell of a lot to complain about in other words. Except maybe I don´t have any time to blog or to write. And maybe that I would like Mr Sketch and myself to get our future going. But this little happening is keeping at a clear distance. Think I might need to find a new future. Maybe the weekend will provide some futuristic alternatives. Or at least something for the present tense. Would do too.

Love and kisses

Penguins and their sons

Florence Nightingale, that must be me. Albeit a bit peculiar one. Or what do you make of an ex-wife sending presents to the new born son of the ex-husband? Especially since this ex-wife is obviously not especially welcome into the ex-husband´s new family? I just couldn´t resist it. I got these pictures of the little one via a friend and I just fell to the floor for the little boy. He is just the cutest little prince you could ever imagine. And a little copy of his father, sooooooo similar.

And the picture of my ex holding his son, and the happiness of his face, was just overwhelming. It warmed my heart the whole week. And then I texted and asked if it was ok to send a gift to him. And the ex said it was "of course ok". So I got them a cool pair of boy-nickers and a colourful little ball making sounds when you throw it. I also got a card with a penguin looking at his little furry grey penguin son. I hope the mother wont mind the card, it feels very directed to my ex-husband.

Anyway maybe it sounds like I am twisting my back to make friends with them. And maybe I am. But it´s not the hidden agenda for my gift-sending. I am just sincerely happy for my ex, and for both them of course. After all, me am Florence, forget not. Peculiar but kind.

Hallelujah.