Last Night.

So I went on a pseudo-date. There was a boy, there was a girl (the whole shebang). 
These are some of my favourite quotes from the gentleman in question directed at yours truly 
throughout the evening.
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             1. You're a downer.
             2. I wish I'd never met you.
             3. You remind me of my mother and sister.
             4. Oh yeah, I smoked heroin.
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My heart is a-flutter.

Okay.

I am now embarrassed to be on this website. 

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/ex-sex-success/

I gym. I watch VH1. These are my stories.

Supermoon.

Last weekend the moon was near Saturn as well as the bright stars of Regulus and Spica.  Astronomers called it a perigee full moon, because the moon is full while also at perigee - from 'peri'/'near' and 'geo'/'earth'. 

You Made Me Breakfast.

You made me breakfast. Tomato on toast if I remember right. That rye that isn’t rye that 
you know is my favourite. With Bovril on it to keep my iron up. 

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But I was too busy crying over the backgammon board to eat it.

I don’t think you finished your omelette. My tears hid me from most things. I threw a 
double 6. I felt a little better.

We made another pot of tea. It was weak but I didn’t say anything. I felt good about myself 
not saying anything. But I didn’t finish my cup and threw it down the sink. To ‘make a 
point’. I felt worse then.

I wandered around the garden. Pretending to be just wandering. Looking at the plants. 
Looking at the sky. Looking at the pool. Pretending to be fine. The cat found me.

Shall we play scrabble? Again. I didn’t really mind. Okay, I said. Pretending to be 
juuusssssst fine.

I got Q E A G E N Y. I felt a little better.

I mentioned how we had to go buy something for dinner. Mmm. You said. You put down 
‘sneak’ as your first word. You got 28 points. I put down ‘sneaky’ and ‘yen’. I got only 20 
points. You put down ‘surly’. I wondered if you were trying to send me a message.

In Woolworths I grabbed a packet of Roma tomatoes, surprised they had. Subdued 
excitement. We said we should buy orange juice. You grabbed a packet of prawn chips and 
gave me a little smile. I smiled back. I wondered if anyone in Woolworths would notice my 
blotchiness. I should have put on some make-up. I cleared my throat. I read somewhere 
that stops you crying.

I sighed. You mentioned the clouds. I said they were beautiful. You said your clutch was 
acting up again. I said, Shit. We drove.

Just outside your house a kid was walking his german shepherd. As we turned in the puppy 
yanked the kid across your drive, while he gasped at us with an exaggerated startled face. 
We turned to each other and burst out laughing. You did that guffaw that I love. I breathed. 
I grabbed your hand. From excitement. From relief.

I smiled. We forgot the orange juice.

Champagne. Pool. Swim. Scrabble. Sex. Swim. Backgammon. Reading. Reading. Reading.

I stirred the frying tomatoes with a subtle smile. Wine? Yes please. We must go for a picnic. 
Of course, you said. The pasta was nice. Not great. Many things are not great, but nice. I 
think my standards have risen, I said. Mmm. You said, and looked at your food. I wondered 
if you thought I was trying to send you a message. I wasn’t. But I didn’t discourage you 
from thinking I may have been.

We showered. Lathered. Laughed. Full from food. Hair wet. Urged myself to relax. 
I could tell you were confused, but you took it well. I was upset out of habit. I dressed silently. 
I left all my  clothes on. To ‘make a point’. You were staring at me, I could feel it. I refused to 
look at your face. Only once. Quickly. A horrible, little smile. I shoved myself under the 
covers and turned away. Good night, you said. Good night.

I shuffled. You rearranged. You turned away from me. I cleared my throat.

I’m nervous, you said. My face changed. I undressed silently. Rubbed your foot with mine. 

Pressed myself on your back. Hoped that I knew that I could excite you with myself. My 
breasts. My mouth. My calculating fingers.

I could. I was. You turned to me. Turning me on. Don’t try too hard, be light. I felt powerful 
in your wanting. You working for me. You kissing my stomach. I thought of how women are 
taught to own the power. To gift it. I got angry. I started fighting for my arousal. I forced 
you to bite me. Don’t try too hard. My own advice.

I stopped. I breathed. Confusion from you. From me. I kissed you lightly. Then forcefully. 
You kissed me back. It was quick, quiet and wonderful. I came. You came. The clean up was 
performative and familiar.

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We lay there sweating. I frowned. I was sore. I rolled over, hugging myself. I pulled away 
from you. You wouldn’t let me. You pulled the covers over, hugged me from behind.

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I love you, you said. I love you, I said.

I went to gym last night.

And so follows my treadmill television watching machine experience.
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CNN: The UN members were chatting about Libya and then all walked out of a building, 
one after the other. They obviously aren't friends. There was this one man that walked out, 
lifted his hand, gave a cursory nod and a little 'hello', as if he'd seen himself on tv walk 
out of this building before and thought he (and everyone else) looked like a nonce because 
they didn't acknowledge the MASSIVE MOB of journalists and cameras and so thought to 
himself, well I'm just going to wave and say hello and look like a regular person instead of 
a robot but really I'm sure he watched it this time and realised he looked like a nonce 
anyway. Anyway, it worked. I liked him better than the other blokes.
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Memorable quotes: Hala Gorani, speaking to a correspondent - "Thank you, uh, for joining 
us, uuh, this, uuuuh, evening."


Boomerang/Cartoon Network: Tom & Jerry. Anyone else think that black Southern 
maid's a little bit racist? 


VH1: I watched the group members of Yes (of 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' fame) appear 
and disappear - as if by MAGIC - atop a city high rise, taunting and eventually driving an 
innocent man to his suicidal death plunge. (Man/puppet, let's not fuss facts.)
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followed by
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Alanis Morissette, dressed like a twenty-something covering Crazy. She says seventy like 
'savaantie'. Seems to have gotten a hair job. It's cut. Conditioned. And huge. It's huge. ... 
I don't think she works without the hippy hair. And the youth. A little too much Sheryl 
Crow. Oh God and how it all ends - 'Let me walk through a crowded party pushing past 
people that don't acknowledge me making them all look like assholes and me the tortured 
genius when actually I'm the asshole because I've paid all these people to be here.' What 
are you thinking Alanis?! You can't beat Seal! Seal with his black leather and his white coat 
and those dreads and that gap between his teeth and his dove - his MOTHERFUCKING 
dove on the red couch in the white room with the fake snow!
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That said, I like Alanis Morissette. She was great in Weeds.

Johannesburg Blues.

Good day.

Why hello.