Posts Tagged 'I wait for her'

Right now I would love…

She has blonde hair. For some reason I’ve always preferred blond hair on my own head as well. In my traumatic relationship history the blondes treated me better than the brunettes did. She would never admit so to me but even though I’ve forgiven the past she would have strong words for those who wounded her man so deeply and thus made our first six months together more troublesome than they should have been. She has blonde hair, and in the little fantasies that I create for myself she shares my three bedroomed house with me. The house that is only a few hundred yards from the home I grew up in. Another family live there now creating their lives and I have my own home in the town I love.

In this particular flight of fancy I’m doing the wash-up wearing my customary pink rubber gloves. I enjoy the confusion and consternation it causes among people who can’t deny how utterly masculine I am yet wear bright pink to wash the dirty dishes. The chime of the doorbell fills the house and I ask her to please get it for me. She puts down the book she’s reading. She’ll discuss it with me later when we lie on the bed gazing at each other as she takes issue with a point the author’s making. I’ll get lost in her eyes briefly and have to ask her to repeat what she said. The mild annoyance on her face will make way to a smile and a feeling of security that comes from knowing I hold her to be the most beautiful woman in the world and could never think of any other but her. Her bare feet embrace first the soft, warm threads of the milky rug I insisted on getting before touching the polished wooden timbers of the floor. She opens the door fully and stands to one side, cocking her head to examine the unexpected visitor, which enables said visitor to see me at the sink.

The view is from behind the caller. He’s a guy from the soccer club dropping over something for me that relates to my role as Secretary. He does a double take as this stunningly beautiful woman answers the door when he was expecting to see the man everyone in the soccer club calls by the shortened version of his name. That’s alright of course by me because I consider them friends and they’re allowed to do that. She’s wearing a loose, flowing beige dress with a floral purple design that contains embedded sparkles at the end of her left leg and a loose white tank top that just shows off a little of her belly and occasionally will bare one or other of her shoulders. Her dark blonde hair covers her shoulder as she flashes the man a smile and says hello to him.

The man is at a loss momentarily as are most men when they first meet her. “Who is it?” I shout. One of the habits that the house located a few hundred yards away is very familiar with. “I’m Mick” he stutters. “It’s Mick from the soccer club” she shouts back at me. She oozes elegance but for some reason she liked the fact I would shout to her from one side of the house to the other and so adopted it as her own. Certainly her mother wouldn’t approve but her mother thinks the sun, moon and stars shine out from under me so would forgive me for the bad habit her daughter has acquired from this relationship. The envelope in the man’s hand and the crest of the Football Association of Ireland was enough for her to deduce he was from the soccer club. She notices the small things and details in life – another reason why I love her.

At this point I have to turn around to deduce which ‘Mick from the soccer club’ it is given there are half a dozen or so who could answer to that description. I walk towards him and she links arms with me when I reach the door. “Alright Mick, how you doing?” “Alright Steve” he replies the purpose of his visit slowly oozing back into his head. “This arrived for you in the post. I was the old contact for them so I still get their stuff.” This is the normal state of affairs with organisations – especially amateur organisations. Seeing the logo on the front of it I immediately put it on the ‘worry about later’ part of my head. “Ah, cool. Thanks for that. How are things?” I ask. “This is my girlfriend by the way”. She extends a hand softly and he shakes it with the haste that one must when completing a social convention that wasn’t expected. “Nice to meet you Mick” she says sweetly. Her repetition of his name is a memory tool for her. She’s much better with names than I am. “How are the kids doing?” I do however know the names of each of his kids and the fact their exams are coming up. He relaxes visibly as he can revert to a form conversation he’s had with dozens of other people be they distant family members, work colleagues or other members of the soccer club. “Aw grand you know. Exams coming up so trying to get them to study. The little fella isn’t fond of Maths at all and is getting grinds but they’ll be over soon.” “So they will and they’re not the end of the world anyway” I reply with a smile.

A few more pleasantries and he takes his leave of the man wearing the pink rubber gloves. He reminds himself that with a girlfriend that beautiful there can be no doubts about a man’s sexuality even with brightly colour latex and the distant drone of the car engine fading into the distance confirms his departure. She returns to her book in the front room that catches the sunlight. I finish the washing up and come into to give her a kiss on the head before turning to leave her to her reading. She understands that’s one of the main ways I express my affection and knows that if it isn’t happening something’s up.

She finds me upstairs lying on the bed looking at the ceiling painted a lighter hue than the pale orange of the walls. She judges from the way my form is arranged on the bed and the expression on my face that I’m thinking about stuff. That’s the phrase I use. Stuff can mean anything and everything but she knows when it’s better to pry to help me to figure it out or when it’s better to leave me be to muse on my own. She also knows that now is a moment where interruption of the kind she’s planning is welcome. She jumps and pins me down. “Hello you” eagerly escapes her lips. I immediately flip her over and have her pinned. She laughs at how easily I can keep her where I want her to be and her eyes trail the shape of my arms. How she loves those arms; everything a man’s arms should be… bulging ever so slightly now as powerful yet soft skinned hands hold her by the wrists. Not many men can look as good as her man in jeans and a white t-shirt…

Gazing into each other’s eyes, faces move closer and closer until tender lips kiss and fingers embrace as the sunlight shines through the window and warms the skin that clothing covered only moments ago…

Wear it for me…

I was never one for jewellery. I took the view that a man should really only wear a high quality watch and a wedding band. One of those hallmarks of masculinity for me. A stylish watch; an elegant suit but he polishes his own shoes. These should all come naturally to my ideal of masculinity. There are other aspects but that encompasses one facet of the type of man I try to be. I’ve had that ring little over a year but only started wearing it every now and then over the past few months. It has a story of course. All jewellery should.

“Would you wear a ring for me?” It was an unusual question for a relationship that was less than a week old. “Darling are you asking to marry me?” I’m nothing if not a tease. “No, it’d just be nice. It’d let other women know that you’re taken but only if you have no problem wearing one.” I laughed. I like to make my friends happy and I like to bring joy to other people’s lives. For me this was a no brainer. “Shouldn’t you be down on one knee or something?” But it didn’t mean I couldn’t still have some fun. “If it’s a problem it’s fine.” I took her by the hand “No, it isn’t a problem but I can’t wait to make my friends and family back home freak out by saying I’m going ring shopping on Facebook.” When I lose the imp in me you might as well make preparations for the wake.

All my relationships have been long distance. This one was no different. We’d met through blogging and I’d flown across the ocean to meet her. I’m kind of stupidly romantic that way but for me we’d done everything right. We’d had a good long friendship before hand. I was familiar with some of the people from her church and when I arrived I got on with everyone. The only thing that sucked was the whole long distance aspect.

So we went ring shopping. Two of her friends went with us as we’d met them for coffee on the way. “What type of ring should I get?” “I don’t mind. You’re the one who will have to wear it. You pick it out.” “Aren’t girls meant to have the idea of a ring in their head already?” “Those are our rings silly. Not guys’ rings.” I didn’t have a clue what type of ring to get. We were in an Irish shop. It could have been worse with all the stereotypical Irish junk but I managed to finally settle on one. With her in college she couldn’t afford to pay for it. It wasn’t a big deal. I was just happy that she wanted me to wear a ring. It was proof in a way that she was committed to what was going to be a tough relationship.

It took a while to get used to the ring on my finger. I couldn’t wash my hands while wearing it. I realised immediately that putting it on the kitchen sink was a bad habit to start so my habit was to put it in my back pocket. Half the time after washing my hands I would forget to put it back on. Eventually though it became familiar. The weight on my hand. I came to feel it was a part of me. I liked having it on my hand and on my finger. Yes, this was a new step; a new direction but one that had me on a path that I wanted to embark on. A woman who shared my version of Christianity; who blogged; who danced who put up with my flaws and failings. A woman I wanted to build a life together with. A life built for a Hollywood love story.

There’s a reason we go to the movies. Escapism. We want to forget about our lives for two hours and imagine how they could be. Were you to draft a script about the heroine in this instance there would be a happy ending. She gets the guy she loves in the end. It just wasn’t this guy. For Hollywood it isn’t cheating on the guy who was merely there to make the heroine realise which of the men in her life she truly loved. That guy only wanted the best for her and wanted her to be happy. For Hollywood that’s enough to brush him out of the picture.

So this ring which was meant to be a symbol of love across the oceans crossed an ocean never to return to whence it came. In the movies it’s alright to forget about the guy who bought a symbol of fidelity expecting it to mean that faithfulness would abound – or if not that, at least friendship. The symbol he didn’t wear on his finger for fear of questions when the relationship was in its death throes so he put it on a chain and wore it close to his heart, believing that love between friends would mean that at least friendship would remain. The symbol that eventually became a thunderbolt of pain that clapped throughout his entire being with every beat of his heart before the burnings sensation of it on his skin meant he could no longer bear the sight of it such was the furnace of emotions it unleashed through him. The symbol that eventually became as cold, inert and lifeless as the metal from which it was forged.

I don’t believe in hiding or getting rid of things unless they no longer serve any purpose. This ring still serves a purpose for me but right now I can’t tell you what it is.

I want…

Originally posted June 2008. Damn but I’m feeling very lonely of late. Interesting to see what has and hasn’t changed from this more recent post

I want someone to pray with. A passionate woman whose love for God far surpasses any love she will ever have for me. I want a woman who challenges my faith and causes me to grow. She will force me to defend why I think what I think and make me a better man because of that. She will love people because God has loved her first. She will have a servant heart and will share her faith willingly even though it won’t need to be shared because it will radiate from her. She will see the Body of Christ reunited living for His Kingdom and His Glory. She will accept nothing less from me than a devotion to God as strong as her own. I want her living for His Glory.

I want someone to dance with. I want a woman who would rather dance than talk with me. I want to move in time to music that is only in our heads on a beach at midnight, beneath still silver moonlight as waves lap gently on the shore. I want to have my hand around her back cusping the side of her breast, as her head nuzzles my chest while our legs flick left and right before slow sliding ochos on the floor in an intricate dance that leads to more. I want someone who dances in worship not caring that people look but happy to be dancing for a smile from up above. I want someone who swings in and out as we lift and shout hey to an audience that looks on with billowing dresses and tilted hats surrounding and clapping as we take our turn to own the floor. I want to spy on her as she dances only for herself in front of a mirror when no-one else is watching. When she moves because she wants to move.

I want someone to run with. I want to see her hair and dress trailing in the wind as I see her footprints flash by in the mud. Her gleeful screams filling the air like a joyful melody. Through woods and fields. Laughing in the Sun. Walking through shoulder high grass and rolling around with kisses and whispers galore. She takes out pencil and paper and begins to draw her bare feet and mine. I recite her favourite poem. The one I know from memory. Her favourite that isn’t written by me. We lie down next to one another and the only sound is content beating hearts as we watch wisps of cloud flit by in an altogether beautiful sky.

I want someone to celebrate with. When I come off the pitch she is there to hug me soaking wet and muddy though I may be. I can be happy for her because I was there from beginning to end. I want to smile when she succeeds. I want to lift her up and spin her around while kissing her when I do well. I want to win and be happy and have someone to jump around with. I want to cry tears of joy with her and wipe them away as I whisper “I knew you could do it.”

I want someone to debate with. I want to see her obstinate face refusing to budge just when I thought I clinched the argument. I want to talk about politics, democracy, theology and philosophy. I want someone who has read books I haven’t and disagrees with me because she has considered her views thoroughly. I want to chat with her and then realise I hadn’t thought of an issue in that light before. I want her mind to be like mine. Open, inquisitive and eager to learn. Never dismissing without reasoned debate. I want a mind that is strong. That has as many useless facts as I do in it.

I want someone to love life with. I want to stand behind her and see the wheels in her head turning as she gazes on a painting. I want to try new food with her. I want to close my eyes as she plays music. I want to be her inspiration as she paints. I want her to take surreptitious photos of me when I’m not looking. I want her to tease me for being a prohibitionist as I tease her for being an alcoholic. I want someone who leans forward when watching a piece of dance she’s interested in.

I want someone to hold me. With her gentle hands, lips and fresh smelling hair. To tell me it’s alright. To know when she should hold me and when she shouldn’t. I want to cradle her in my arms and wipe away her tears. I want to be there for her and save her day. I want to spend a lazy day on the couch with her in my arms as the rain gently hits the window. I want to lie my head on her lap and have silence fill the room because we are both content.

I want someone to tell me to cop myself on. To kick me up the backside when I need it and especially when I don’t want it. To care enough for me that she is cruel to be kind. To tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get off my ass and do something about it. To get me to stop thinking and to start doing. To be strong enough for our marriage when I can’t be even if we have to take turns at it.

I want someone beautiful. I want to get lost in her eyes. I want to be talking and trail off because she turned, was caught in sunlight and I was lost for words. I want her eyes to sparkle and twinkle. I want her to give me a smile that no-one else sees. I want my soccer team to ask if she has any sisters. I want to look at her sleeping with a satisfied little smile on her face and wonder why did God give me such a beautiful woman as my wife.

I want someone to make love to. To have her shut the door and make her way towards me. To embrace passionately. To spend an entire day on a seduction that starts the moment she leaves the house. To taste her, to kiss her and to know that the wait was worth it. To wake in the morning with her and call in sick for her. To have only darkness, beating hearts and heavy breathing. To walk through the front door and have her leap onto me as she wraps her legs around my waist and kisses my open mouth with arms clutching my back. To stay in bed an extra five minutes because her scent lingers in the sheets.

I want someone to grow old with. To make fun of young kids at church with. To look after nieces and nephews. To take to my family and make it feel her own with. To have a family with her. To have my Nana tell her the story of how my GranDad seduced her. To argue and fight with and still realise we love each other. To tease her as she goes grey and be teased as I go bald.

I want to give her up to God.

I want to say your plans are enough

And Your love is enough for me but most of all

I will make sure I am good enough for her.

I want to deserve that someone.

Inner Shrink

Forgiveness doesn’t mean what she did to you was alright. It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to hurt every now and then because of what happened. Travelling across an ocean for love only to discover that she was cheating you before, during and after the trip is bound to leave scars. You’re only human.

Are you over the break-up? Yes, you got over that remarkably quickly but that was because you were honest about what the relationship involved. For you staying friends even if it didn’t work out was still a positive result. In fact the friendship is what you treasured more than anything and that’s what you grieve. That’s what you miss. It’s the way you’re wired. When you truly commit to a friendship you’re all in regardless of what happens. You’re grieving the loss of a friendship like you still grieve the loss of others. Time doesn’t heal wounds. Grieving does. When the grief is done, then you can heal. You don’t give up on people. That’s your problem. You don’t know when to cut loose and you’re a glutton for punishment. Too trusting, too giving, too caring, too open and too honest. Even when it was obviously the right thing to do it still bugs you to have to do it.

Someone who was content to lie to you about matters of fundamental importance such as fidelity in relationships is probably not going to have any major qualms about lying to you concerning the future of the friendship when all has been laid bare. Of all the emotions you felt as a part of this anger made up probably 1% at most if even that. Disappointment, hurt, pain and a throbbing numbness were the cold, blank four walls of the room where you tried to piece back together your heart. It was alright to feel angry if you couldn’t even do it yourself at the time.

Life’s a bitch sometimes. Get used to it. Learn the lessons. You still haven’t. You don’t want to either. You’re afraid to because the risk of getting burnt when you play with fire is better than no warmth at all. There’s a reason adults tell children not to play with fire. Remember that.

To Her

This is cathartic more than anything so it doesn’t flow very well. Will post a similar effort from a couple of years back that reads much easier in the next couple of days

You’re supposed to be out there. The woman who I will call my wife. At times I think it’d have been better if you’d met me a couple of years ago. I was stronger in my faith then.

I wonder what you’ll see when you look at me. There was a time I could have stood before you and honestly said there had been none before you. And then there was a time I could have looked you straight in the eye and said that if you did more than kiss me you were into hitherto unexplored territory. And then last year happened. And what an absolute mess that was. I suppose understanding how it happens is part of it but to explain would give the impression I was seeking to absolve responsibility. That’s something that’s not in my genetic code. At this point in time I don’t know what your history is. It won’t matter to me what your past is once we create our future together. This may seem utterly redundant to you in time but it is part of the journey I am on. I’m damned if I know where it leads.

I seem to attract attention. Girls have wanted me and that’s just the ones that had the courage to say it to me. Boyfriends have moved in to protect their girlfriends because I was a perceived threat. I’ve even made a guy’s boyfriend jealous of me and a girlfriend jealous of my relationship with her boyfriend. All I need now is to make one half of a lesbian couple jealous and I’ve completed the set which means I can send away for a prize, right?

It seems to happen. Take a nice guy in a teenage body and he gets ignored. Take a nice guy and put him in a decent looking man’s body and he gets attention. I seem to appeal to a wide cross section of ages. I have a list of unrequiteds that you wouldn’t believe. Some of them developed because of blissful ignorance on my part; some of them because of sheer stupidity on my part and others because a girl thought she knew her own heart. Why do I tell you this?

Because that’s the one area I see myself screwing up in. When you feel very alone you immediately respond to anyone who shows affection- or maybe that’s just a me thing. I’m not sure if this will be an issue if I’m with you. In fact the very knowledge that you’re there, if my instinct is any indication, will be enough to ward off these problems but I’m not into duplicity or deception. I want you to know what you’re getting into. You’re a woman. You deserve the best in life and most of all you deserve it from me.

I’ll start with what was formerly the sine qua non of any romantic relationship. A Christian faith. Essentially historic and orthodox. It didn’t really matter in what setting it was practiced but it had to be real. If I were to slogan it I’d say I wanted a girl who was so engaged in the pursuit of God that I had to chase Him in order to catch her. Funny how things change over time. I don’t know where I am in that right now.

While it’s true, for the majority of people, that you become the people you hang out with, you can’t go out with someone in the hope of becoming more like them. It’s not the basis for any type of real relationship. I am an individual with things I like to do. I expect any woman I fall for will be the same. If we share common interests that’s great. If not it can be great too as having separate circles where you do your own thing means you don’t wreck each other’s heads all the time.

Right now life is relatively uncomplicated and I’m very much focused on things I want to do. When you enter the picture it changes. Completely and utterly. In ways I can’t even comprehend right now. It’s not about fitting you into my life. It’s about discussing what we want our life to be. My goal in life will be to make you happy. And that’s of your own choosing. Whether that’s raising children or pursuing your own career in whatever field or taking over the world with me. Being honest, I see nothing but benefits if you earn more money than me. I intend to earn quite a bit so you’ll have to keep up mind ;-)

It’ll be a bonus if you like soccer as that’s something we’ll have in common but it’s not a deal beaker. I like to play it. Apparently it makes my legs look good but I’m in it more for the chasing the spherical object around the grass aspect. I aim to keep myself in good shape. Number one because it’s healthy and number two because I want to look my best for you. I’m not a muscle bound meat head or anything but my goal is to have you wake up in the morning, roll over and think I’ve got a fine hunk of a man.

I like to read. A lot. My bookcase strains as it is and there isn’t that much more space under the bed. By the time you read this I’ll hopefully have learnt off some more poems. I can’t wait to write you some poems. I’m a perfectionist. I’ll be very hard on myself. They will be your poems though. I’ll figure out if you prefer sonnets or free verse. If literary techniques are something you notice or not. I’ll craft them for you.

I would like to take you dancing under the moonlight. I love to dance. The old ballroom styles. Waltzing under the moonlight in the forest or on the beach would fill my heart with joy. A slow tango on a crowded dance floor, your head to my chest listening to my heartbeat as our legs intertwine with the steady pace of the music filling in the air even as our pulses speed up becoming one in that moment. There’s no need to worry if you can’t dance. I’ll show you.

At 25 and a half I’m still a virgin. I’ve plenty of time to make up for it and believe me I shall. Whether it’s tying you to the bed and just gazing at your lithe, beautiful form. Your eyes will say take me now but I will wait and marvel at the beauty that is you. Slowly but surely I will start and you will know what real lovemaking is. Or the seduction that starts when you walk out the door for work. When your phone beeps and your cheeks blush from the text. That day I’ll leave early from work and get our little home ready for you. Flowers and wine. Might be conventional but give me time and I’ll figure out new and interesting ways to surprise you. Other days it won’t be about the hot, red raw passion. It’ll be about me running the bath for you and putting on your favourite chill out music while cooking you dinner and cleaning the house. I’m always good for a cuddle so if you just want to be held that’s good with me.

Finally there’s the things that I’ll do but I don’t know yet. Maybe it’ll be just sitting quietly in the room with me for hours. Maybe it’ll be the times I look at you and smile. Maybe it’ll be the way my mind works. Maybe it won’t be anything that I do. It’ll just be the way I am: “That’s my man”.

I want you to understand that I’m not perfect. I’m just a man with all the flaws and failings that go along with being a man; the ones I’m aware of and the ones I’m yet to discover. I may not be the perfect man

but

I’ll be your man.

The tricks you play

Ever think about the tricks you play on yourself? With me it’s a case of knowing the way my mind works and preempting the negative patterns I can get myself into and reinforcing the positive behaviours that move my life forward. Say with going on a junk food run. I let it run late and late. The later I let it run the greater the amount of shops that are closed until the only one that’s left is the 24 hour Tesco that’s about 15 minutes drive away. If I end up driving there it’s often a case of I get to sort things out in my head on the way there. It’s not to say that I don’t end up getting a tub of ice-cream and a rake of sweets but it’s better to avoid doing that though whatever methods I can.

The main trick I play on myself is to keep myself super busy so I don’t have to deal with a whole pile of crap that’s going on. Keep yourself running around so much that you don’t have time to think. It means you achieve loads but don’t necessarily deal with underlying issues. I recommend it in the short-term but not at the expense of dealing with the issues causing your strife.

I seem to have a habit of keeping a range of girls in the friend zone. I’m a heart breaker. Not necessarily by intent initially but more through ignorance. Over time I realised by simply being myself I was sending a whole range of signals that a lot of women are yearning for. It’s a rare man who doesn’t find himself intrigued by female attention and at the end of the day I’m a very ordinary guy. Throw in a bit of flirting and a bit of weaknesses and before you’ve known it you’ve mistreated one of the most precious commodities in the Universe. A woman’s heart.

Intentions can play a role in life but it’s actions that count. A guy might not have meant to pull the trigger but he still killed someone. A man may not have meant to hurt a woman but if she’s in tears does it matter? Is it his fault? There are of course three sides to any story: his side; her side and the truth. I’m not sure how much fault is on her side in any of my dalliances. I just know that I was involved and I feel responsible. Her part in the process doesn’t matter as such. I should have known better or acted with more discernment or discretion. I also should have known not to place myself in situations where I was vulnerable and in need of attention and affection with woman who were hoping for more from me.

The thing is I have never once lied to any of these women. I have always been honest. If I think they look good I tell them. If I like a picture I say so. If they’re venting about their day I let them know it doesn’t bother me because 95% of the time it doesn’t and the other 5% of the time I’ll tell them if I’ve had a crappy day anyway. Someone can be truthful and still deceive a person. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I generally have a good instinct about this type of thing as well. At a certain point I know the girl has fallen even if she won’t admit it or can’t see it herself. There’s a line that she crosses and with each girl it’s different.

I still skate far too close to that line and I’m no good at ice-skating either.* The hermit/monk option looks more appealing every day with respect to that. If I truly value women shouldn’t I steer clear enough until I’m certain I want her to feel more for me? Should I be a faux misogynist in the interim? But how do I switch off that yearning to simply interact and be appreciated as a man in my own right? There’s nothing wrong with feeling lonely or wanting to be loved and held. What we do with that desire is the question. I don’t think it’s something that fades or that you can keep on ignoring

* Like seriously no good at ice-skating. Been ice-skating once. The manager asked me if I was drunk because I fell over so much

Can’t live with…

2009 was an interesting year for a lot of reasons and a terrible year for a lot more but one thing it showed me was more of the opposite sex and relationships there in than I had bargained for. That stuff will feature at a later date but it was more the events of my brother’s 21st that made me realise how far things had developed since.

I had no confidence in my self-image for a lot of my life. In fact it’s only in the past 18 months that I’ve really thrown that off. I remember my brother coming home and telling me that he had to argue with someone about how I wasn’t in fact gay. At the time I was involved with a dance club. I remember asking a close (gay) friend of mine about it at the time. There’s no way I register on the gaydar but then it’s only the solitary demograph in the village that have those. He said to look at it this way: “You’re good looking. You dress well. You’re in charge of a dance club – and you don’t have a girlfriend.” I saw his point.

I believe who a person is matters far more than what they look like. In my own experience I have found that people related to me differently at different stages of life. I feel that in terms of my mind and personality I am fundamentally the same person although a bit wiser and more mature. However when I was younger I was a teenager with all the problems and pitfalls that brings. I also was not what I am now in terms of appearance. That is an average looking guy in alright shape with some really nice hair. We seem to think beautiful people are better at whatever it is they’re doing. We also think tall people are better at whatever it is they’re doing. It’s not that they are. Our perception is our own deception.

When I went out with my brother to celebrate his birthday one of the comments was that the three brothers who were there looked very alike. That’s what happens when you’re related of course but I digress. Over time I’ve become better at reading when a girl is interested in me. That’s not to say I’m any good at it. Guys tend not to get the subtle signals women send, nor the obvious signals nor the ten feet large neon flashing signs either. I’ve just become more attuned to how a girl interacts with me and what that can, at times, betray. There were a couple of things in my favour so to speak going in to that night: Firstly, there was the previous stamp of approval factor. I was the birthday boy’s brother. This meant I had overcome the first hurdle. They could safely assume I wasn’t a psycho stalker. This was also confirmed later in the night when one circle of my brother’s friends discovered that I had been in that circle in college. They ignored me before this revelation but seemed to adore me afterwards. Not sure how much alcohol was drunk in between as a caveat. Secondly, these girls were younger than me by anything from two to four years. This appeals on an evolutionary level because you’re seen as more able to provide and a more secure mate prospect as an older male. Thirdly, they seemed to like the look of me. I knew this from a previous episode when I had given my brother a lift home. This particular girl’s comment upon seeing me was: “You didn’t tell me he was hot. I look like s***!”

Then there were the little things over the course of the night that just make a guy feel good. Talking about politics with a beautiful girl. That girl taking my arm as we walked to the club. The very same girl asking me if she had my fragrance right and telling me she loved it when I told her that she’d gotten it in one. The little pang of disappointment when I enquired as to her status with my brother to be told that she was definitely taken and had been for a few years. Dancing with different girls on the dance floor. Watching my old dance club friends do their thing on the floor and watch the new crop do theirs. Meeting an old college friend in the club. Being smothered with hugs and little kisses on the forehead and cheeks because she was so happy to see me. Taking her out for a dance and learning that she’s probably gotten much, much better than me since I last met her. Taking a moment to enjoy the fact that I’m dancing the way I love to with a very good looking woman with no fear of it being misread by her.

I know that in 2009 I haven’t been in a good place with my faith. I know that because last night if that girl had been available I may have sought to explore possibilities. I waited for a girl. Relationships can end in many ways. It didn’t end well. Sometimes you wonder if you should wait at all


Twitter Updates

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Flickr Photos

Rose amongst the thorns

Someone...

Seaweed

More Photos