Feeling a little poetic today. Haven’t felt that way in a long time. **sheepish grin**

It’s a pretty slow day at work, and I’m reading throuh Mine Boy. It’s got me thinking about the idiot Eliza. She’s not an idiot coz of her desires, it’s more har lack of it. It’s silly the way she’s all hot and cold like a broken thermostat.

Girls like that kind of thing. They’re drawn to broody type guys who like them one minute and ignore them the next. Kina Ben wa Sunset beach and Louis Alberto wa Rich also cry na Benton wa ER na the PTSD version of Mark Greene.

I don’t know what the pull is – I guess it’s the challenge of getting them to smile or sth, or the power of trying to be ‘the one who can make them happy.’ It’s like having your very own cumulus cloud, and being the only one that can spot its silver lining.

I thought men were immune to this kind of thing in a girl, but in the novel, Xuma can’t get enough of this idiot girl who brings herself into his room, giggles and flirts with him, kisses him madly, freezes up when he tries to make love to her, leaves the room screaming, then comes back five minutes later and hugs him. Total nut job.

Or maybe the victim of abuse, the book doesn’t try to explain anything except that she wishes she was white. It doesn’t even give us a why. I don’t like this book much, but it’s a setbook, so I have to read it to find out where the extract I’m editing is from.

I wrote a poem today. Haven’t done that in a long time. But then when I tried to post it, I somehow deleted it. Rusum-fusum-technobofia! I’ve tried to rewrite it, but the words won’t come. Oh well. I know what inspired it, so maybe i’ll take another hit and re-find my muse…

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In high school, I heard boys say they hate those girls who think every boy who talks to them is chatting them up. Unfortunately, I’m one of those girls, so I didn’t get much ‘action’ so to speak.

Truth is, I just don’t understand the whole girl-guy thing apart from the basics of babymaking. I mean a guy sees a girl, says hi, talks a bit, asks her out. Why? What does he gain from it if not candy? I suppose there’s something to be said for intelligent conversation and good food, but I find it hard grappling the concept that somebody would want to spend time and money on me just to hear me talk. Especially if he’s heard my voice.

A guy meets, what, a hundred women every day. What is it about this one woman that makes him want to see her again? Or does he just ask each one until somebody says yes? I’m not being satirical here, these are genuine questions. I’ve never been asked out before, so I don’t know how these things work. And the fact that I was asked for drinks by someone who met me at a pool and said 100 words to me, then showed up at my office without even knowing my name, does not inspire confidence. I like the guts though.

You wonder why I said yes? Well, he’s an interesting guy. He’s a gifted writer, I’ve seen his work, and I like writers. I hope to talk philosophy and poetry and the meaning of life, but I can’t believe that’s all the boy has in mind for me…considering we met at the pool, and considering I know a lot more about him than he does about me – turns out he’s google-able.

For a while now, I’ve suspected regular guys find me a little…intimidating. I never get attention except from watchies, kanges, morans, truck drivers, and middle-aged bosses, which is hardly flattering, since guys like that follow anything with milk. And the times I do ask out regular guys, they run away.

So it makes sense that the first viable guy to want my attention would be a mature, accomplished, New Yorkan. It makes sense, doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Plus, according to google, his wife is young, local, and lives in my neighbourhood. These girls are scary!

I’ve been on a few dates, but it was always me that did the asking and it was always because I was interested in the person horizontally, so I have trouble grasping other kinds of meal sharing.

Ideas anyone?

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You know those scenes in movies that we internalise and then subconsciously try to reproduce? Like the bended-knee proposal, and the throwing vases at the wall, and the riding a harley into the sunset, the hugging your pillow when your lonely, and the dozing on the verandah in a cowboy hat chewing a piece of straw [heheh, eh, grass]?

It’s interesting that this stuff has become so internalised that you don’t even realise how silly they are until you try them. Seriously. I mean I knew this boy once, we were walking in the estate on a cool night, it was pretty quiet, there was a full moon. We were talking about something completely sensible, I forget what, then he suddenly stops, holds my shoulders and turns me to face him.

The poor dear wasn’t quite sure what to do after that, so he explained that he was trying to be romantic and kiss me coz I look so pretty in the moonlight. I smiled, more amused than impressed, and closed my eyes and…

…then a dog barked right behind us and we nearly jumped out of our skin. We ran, and then we laughed, and I think that’s one of my best memories with that boy. Of course he tried to recreate the moment a little later, but somehow it just didn’t come off like the movies.

Then there’s that scene where the girl has had a long day and sits in a bubblebath with lavender and music and cucumbers and a good book. Or sometimes rosepetals and jellysalts and company. I used to do that when I was little – lock myself in the bathroom, fill the tub, and soak in it with a novel till the water was cold.

I tried it recently, the tub and the book and the cucumber. Somehow it didn’t quite work out. For one thing, the bubbling water feels cool after about five minutes, coz your body adjusts to the temperature. And since I now have some…fat reserves that I didn’t have as a kid, I’m a lot more buoyant, so it was impossible to stay submerged. And I’m a lot taller too, so I couldn’t quite fit in the basin. I suppose a jacuzzi might be better, but I’m not holding my breath.

There’s the sitting by the fire myth. I did that too, in a nice colonial cottage. That was fun, that didn’t disappoint. Of course the firewood ran out after about 30 minutes, but it was kinda fun staring into the flames and watching the shapes and shadows for those thirty minutes. And since I was only going to bed afterwards, it didn’t matter that I smelt of smoke. Not until the next morning when I realised that everything in my luggage smelt of smoke too. Sigh.

I did the walking-by-the-river thing, listening to the water gurgle by, watching the birds and the flowers, closing my eyes and feeling at one with nature. Oh that was just beautiful. Until the mosquitoes attacked my legs, and the ants bit my bare feet, and the shamba boys across the fence started yelling ‘wee rasta njoo tukuone’ and I realised that all that lay between us was a one inch stream, a papyrus plantation and a reed fence…so I ran closer to the security guards and played on a swing instead. 😀

Some wicked soul [accurately] said the best way to stop temptation is to give in to it. I think the best way to ridicule fantasy is to live it. Trust me, having him feed you strawberries dipped in vanilla ice cream isn’t as funky as it sounds, especially if you don’t like strawberries. And when that boy bathes you in honey or nutella and licks it off, the only ecstasy you’ll be wanting is a hot soapy shower. So live out your fantasies – unless they involve other people’s partners – but remember to carry your funnybone.

In other news, I had a really bad day yesterday. I’ve always said, in true hollywood-fantasy style, that after a day like that, what a girl needs is to get home, have her feet massaged and her shoulders rubbed as she whines about the day, probably have one of those hot-tub-cucumber baths and have him make dinner and feed strawberries and lick honey and all that yummy stuff.

But yesterday, all I wanted was to be alone, find a nice quiet hole, sit in the dark and think myself into nothingness, which is what I did [there was a power blackout]. I didn’t crave his company at all. Interesting.

I have to admit though, when I finally left my dark lucid thoughts and crawled in to bed, I did long for someone strong, soft and cuddly to hold until the morning. I’m incorrigible. I wonder if Gish ever found that bedwarmer she was looking for…

PS: Someone has just asked me out for drinks tomorrow, after work. I’ve never been asked out for drinks before, so I’m nervous. I’m pretty sure it’s a business thing, and I am so not getting dressed up. How I wish he was younger and single-er.

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