Blanduary - The first month of the year where every one is fresh and hoping to fulfill their drunkenly made New years resolutions. This means limited parties, drunken binges are out of the question and diets kick into gear. Boring for those who think NYE should be every night.
Furbuary - Similar to Movember, but this one is for the ladies...nuff said.
Marky March - Props for everyone's favourite Wahlberg. I mean, who likes Donnie? This month we pay salute to Dirk Diggler by getting down and dirty with whats 'down there'. Time to channel your inner Rollergirl - or Phillip Seymour Hoffmans for those a little creepier. I may still have my cassingle copy of Good Vibrations somewhere!
Capril - My attempt at getting everyone to wear capes for the month. Those who loved Get This with Tony Martin, Ed Kavalee and Richard Marsland will know exactly what I mean. I have always loved the idea of capes, and long for the days of yore when you wore a cape and a bodice to get the mail.
Dismay - How I feel after Capril falls to the wayside and the only person wearing them is me.
Balloon June - Mid year and winter has come, as has my winter coat. Its ok to put on a few kilos this month - man doth not survive on corn chips alone.
Awry July - Leos everywhere rejoice because our birthdays have come. Known to others as Dry July, which really, just means more alcohol left for me. Party Party Party is the keyword here, and those who do not join in will be pushed over and laughed at.
Smorgast - As in smorgasboard dining. Yes, the lure of the buffet must be succumbed to - all month. Its still bloody cold, so go and eat a vat of Sizzlers Homestyle Pumpkin soup, with croutons the size of Cheesy Toast. In fact, just drop some cheesy toast in the soup.
Reptember - a month to be kind to crocodiles. Preferable to Heptember, which is a month to be kind to Pamela and Tommy Lee.
Rocktober - Every chance you get, you must summon your inner rock star. Whether this be atop a table in a japanese karaoke room, or solo in undies and socks Risky Business style, this is a chance to let loose and have fun. Warble away your worries and enjoy the last few months of the year that has flown by.
Jon Bon Jovember - An effortless flow on from Rocktober, but this month is a salute to big hair, the tight leather pant and the sex bomb that is JBJ. FYI, playing the bass part on Rock Band for Livin On A Prayer? Better than an orgasm. Maybe more fingering.
In-decentber - Its the last month of the year! Where Christmas, Boxing Day, New Years, festivals and summer barbecues are things to look forward to. Laugh at the tourists with the 2nd degree sunburn. Queue up to buy those last minute Christmas presents because you were so busy air guitaring to Bed Of Roses the previous month. But most of all - be INDECENT. Snog that co-worker. Make those photocopies. Spike that office party punch. Go sans underpants to a party. Keep eye contact for longer than necessary. Why? Because this is the month where everyone allows for slip ups. Consider it a leave pass of morals.
Actually lets make December last the whole year ☺
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Flip The Peace Sign Around - V Day.
Valentines Day.
The day where singles are made to cringe slightly under their formerly confident skin, where there is not so much a direct message but an awareness that smug marrieds and those living in coupledom are passing onto their single counterparts that they are happy and you are not.
You might be getting a rose this Sunday, you might be eating breakfast in bed, you may be strolling hand in hand down to the waterside to your seafood platter for two, you may have him brush that strand of hair out of your eyes, you may be having sex.
You MAY.
And as much bravado as we put on under our fabulous clothes and our well shod feet, the voice of a singleton will falter just that tiny bit when asked if we have a boyfriend. "No, no" we assert, "I much prefer the single life. No one to tell you what to do, meals when I like, I can always go out with the girls, no hairy fat slob on the couch when i get home."
Its true.
To a point.
Yes, I like being single. But singledom can get lonely sometimes, especially when the celebration of coupledom is being smashed right into your face like a cream pie.
Love should be easy, but it isnt. Liken it to a see saw in the playground, the ups and downs are obvious. You got to balance it perfectly and ensure that each person is taking the weight carefully so that you are both having fun. When one person leaves unexpectedly, you go smashing to the ground, left with an emotionally bruised bottom.
I havent been riding the seesaw in the playground for a while now, to use the literal term. When my ex partner got off the seesaw, I fell to the ground and sat in the dust, waiting for him to get back on so I could play again.
Maybe I just need to meet some new playdates.
All I need to remember is that on Valentines Day everyone was single at one point in their life. We may not have all shared the same experiences or emotions but we all like to go to the playground.
In the meantime I'll see if I can find someone to share my swing ☺
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
The day where singles are made to cringe slightly under their formerly confident skin, where there is not so much a direct message but an awareness that smug marrieds and those living in coupledom are passing onto their single counterparts that they are happy and you are not.
You might be getting a rose this Sunday, you might be eating breakfast in bed, you may be strolling hand in hand down to the waterside to your seafood platter for two, you may have him brush that strand of hair out of your eyes, you may be having sex.
You MAY.
And as much bravado as we put on under our fabulous clothes and our well shod feet, the voice of a singleton will falter just that tiny bit when asked if we have a boyfriend. "No, no" we assert, "I much prefer the single life. No one to tell you what to do, meals when I like, I can always go out with the girls, no hairy fat slob on the couch when i get home."
Its true.
To a point.
Yes, I like being single. But singledom can get lonely sometimes, especially when the celebration of coupledom is being smashed right into your face like a cream pie.
Love should be easy, but it isnt. Liken it to a see saw in the playground, the ups and downs are obvious. You got to balance it perfectly and ensure that each person is taking the weight carefully so that you are both having fun. When one person leaves unexpectedly, you go smashing to the ground, left with an emotionally bruised bottom.
I havent been riding the seesaw in the playground for a while now, to use the literal term. When my ex partner got off the seesaw, I fell to the ground and sat in the dust, waiting for him to get back on so I could play again.
Maybe I just need to meet some new playdates.
All I need to remember is that on Valentines Day everyone was single at one point in their life. We may not have all shared the same experiences or emotions but we all like to go to the playground.
In the meantime I'll see if I can find someone to share my swing ☺
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Dry February.
I'm not doing too well so far, and its only the fourth day of the month. But last night was a one off - I went to a gig and had to have a beer or 5.
Why February?
Because I believe my body needs a break from the constant partying I inflict on it.
Because I cant do Dry July - my birthday is in July.
Because I overspent the fun budget in January and need to build up the coffers again for Mad March.
Because its the shortest month of the year.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Why February?
Because I believe my body needs a break from the constant partying I inflict on it.
Because I cant do Dry July - my birthday is in July.
Because I overspent the fun budget in January and need to build up the coffers again for Mad March.
Because its the shortest month of the year.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Boogie Monster.
I wish I could bottle the smell of Friday afternoons. It would be a heady mix of relief and anticipation, coupled with hints of drama, passion and fun. Oh, and we mustn't forget, liberal doses of alcohol.
I'm really looking forward to this weekend. Manic diarising has meant i am attending two barbecues, a night out on the town and then the lovely anticipation of 'whatever goes". But first, there is work to attend to.
A massive generalisation that is probably true - the minutes seem to tick over more slowly when you can't wait to get out of there. I'm doing all of my little tricks - refusing to look at the time until I think 5 minutes has passed, holding my breath for two minutes, taking a sip of water every 30 seconds. How did the time go from 5.29 to 5.28?
Finally, as I stare at the time in the bottom corner of my computer screen, in slow motion the digits change from 5.59 to 6.00. "I'm done", I say as I stand up, log off my computer, grab my handbag and push my chair in, all in one easy motion.
Barbecue # 1 is a casual affair, simply a few drinks between workmates over the wafting scent of sausages. Its a chance to toil down over the working week, bitching about issues to people who actually can relate to them, and understand the jargon and acronyms. Its always better to moan and gripe here, rather than be that messy one who bitches later on at people who barely move to emit bodily gas, let alone have a full time job. A few quick drinks here and then a slightly wobbly dash hailing a cab, and I'm off to the next one.
Sydney has an amazing harbour, and this barbecue has been plonked perfectly on the shores of our idyllic harbour. Add to that a dusky evening where the mosquitos have not yet begun to bite and I feel more and more relaxed as the hours while away. This is one situation where I would be happy for the minutes to go backwards.
But no rest for the wicked. After a few hours of becoming one with a picnic blanket and some bottles of wine, its time for the night to turn the bass up...I am going dancing.
Preparations are slightly messy, to say the least. Downing tumblers full of wine (we gave up on the wine glasses way back when we discovered they didn't hold enough) there is lots of singing, jostling for mirror space, frequent cigarette breaks and I do believe there was even a dance rendition to the Spice Girls song "Stop". Perhaps we should have taken heed from the words of the song - a neighbour politely knocked on the door and asked us to turn it down a smidgen.
Into a cab we pile, a merry duo off to meet like minded party goers. We meet up with my friends, some of whom I was having beers with only that afternoon, and immediately hit the bar for vodka doubles.
Don't judge me - it saves time lining up later on.
The place is trading as an R&B funk joint tonight, so there is plenty of bounce bounce baby bounce factor. Lots of gorgeous men too, I muse, roving an expert eye over the talent out tonight. But plenty of time for that later - I'm here to shake a tail feather. So dance, we do. We drop it like its hot. We raise the roof. We like big butts and we cannot lie. We ain't no Hollaback Girl. We never knew a love like, love like this before. You get the idea.
I duck outside for some fresh air (read : my eighteen millionth cigarette for the night) and in my drunken state manage to smash a glass all over some poor girls exposed foot. I apologise profusely, and the apology is taken with poor grace. Never mind. She had ugly shoes on anyway.
Eventually we tire of dancing and decide to get a meal from one of the late night chinese establishments. Into the place we tumble, our shiny eye makeup and high heels at odds with the lino flooring and chinese warbling coming from the karaoke on the screens. Meals are ordered, drinks are ordered and finally a little bit of order is in place.
Easy conversation is flung from table side to table side, but I am restless. I feel there is still so much to the night and pray the others are of a similar frame of mind. No such luck, to my disappointment. So I cast my nets wider and the following phone conversation ensues.
"Hello darlings, what are you up to tonight?"
"OMG, come out! We are at a foam party and completely off our faces."
"Lovely, I shall see you in a bit. Meet me out the front."
"Its a lesbian foam party!!"
"A lesbian foam party?"
"Yah, and there are hot lesbians everywhere. I slipped in the foam and fell off the stage!!"
"Hmm, ok. I will see you soon."
I share a taxi with one of my mates as we are going the same way, and I can kind of sense he wants to come too, he just needs some very strong arm twisting. I'm not sure how long I'll stay though so I leave it for this time, leaving a mental memo for another day.
My friend meets me at the door with a flaming great big kiss. I suspect this is due to the door bitches at the club turning away a lot of men, due to it being, as you know, a lesbian affair. I have no troubles getting in (hmmmm...) and once past the velvet rope I stop in shock for a second.
There is foam everywhere.
I can barely see some peoples faces, they are covered from head to toe in bubbles. Immediately I regret coming in open toed heels and a satin dress. I am absurdly over dressed for such an event, however I am feeling slightly mollified by the appreciative looks being thrown my way by the women in the area.
I traipse downstairs to the lower dance floor, where the foam abates slightly and order drinks at the bar. Double vodkas again, yes. In for a penny, in for a pound, I say.
After some very tentative dancing (the floor is slippery) we manage to get outside to the smoking area, where I am immediately abandoned by my companion with promises to return in one second.
I'm not too fussed and lean against the wall, drink in hand. After a few minutes, I'm approached by two good looking males and small chit chat is made. While this occurs, I spot a gorgeous specimen of an man leaning on the opposite wall, casting a glance in my direction every now and again. What would I do here? I've started talking to these two other guys, it would be unfeasibly rude to turn away and start a conversation with another?
I head back inside and the night, as they tend to do, passes in a blur. Nothing much of note happens, except I have a great time, which is something in itself, I suppose. As I leave the club I notice I don't have any more cash in my wallet and so a call to the ATM is necessary. I walk down the street, in the midst of drunks, junkies, police, rowdy boys, slutty girls - if you live in Sydney you will know I'm referring to Oxford St ...
Before I reach the cashpoint though, I hear someone behind me trying to get my attention. I turn around and I swear you could have knocked me over with a feather - it was the boy from the alleyway. He saw me leave and had left his friends to come and speak to me. Now, I would never let an effort like that be for nothing so I went and had some drinks with me in the nearest pub.
He was lovely to speak to and spend time with, opening doors, pulling out my chair (??) and I enjoyed a nice easy banter with him. Until he spoke about his ex girlfriend. I asked him when they had broken up, as it seemed to me it must have been recent. He said a few hours ago. I thanked him for the drinks and then left.
Did I overreact? I think not. I would have just rather been on my way home then spending time with someone who obviously was out for a revenge/spite shag. In another world, maybe.
On my way home, I drink dial. I ring my Go To Guy, the boy down the road. He was thankfully awake and so instead of going straight home I get dropped off at the boys house. I'll not divulge too many details, but lets just say itches got scratched, cuddles were given, and a few hours later with the sun high up in the sky I got dropped at my front door, high heels in my hand.
What an utterly fabulous night.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
I'm really looking forward to this weekend. Manic diarising has meant i am attending two barbecues, a night out on the town and then the lovely anticipation of 'whatever goes". But first, there is work to attend to.
A massive generalisation that is probably true - the minutes seem to tick over more slowly when you can't wait to get out of there. I'm doing all of my little tricks - refusing to look at the time until I think 5 minutes has passed, holding my breath for two minutes, taking a sip of water every 30 seconds. How did the time go from 5.29 to 5.28?
Finally, as I stare at the time in the bottom corner of my computer screen, in slow motion the digits change from 5.59 to 6.00. "I'm done", I say as I stand up, log off my computer, grab my handbag and push my chair in, all in one easy motion.
Barbecue # 1 is a casual affair, simply a few drinks between workmates over the wafting scent of sausages. Its a chance to toil down over the working week, bitching about issues to people who actually can relate to them, and understand the jargon and acronyms. Its always better to moan and gripe here, rather than be that messy one who bitches later on at people who barely move to emit bodily gas, let alone have a full time job. A few quick drinks here and then a slightly wobbly dash hailing a cab, and I'm off to the next one.
Sydney has an amazing harbour, and this barbecue has been plonked perfectly on the shores of our idyllic harbour. Add to that a dusky evening where the mosquitos have not yet begun to bite and I feel more and more relaxed as the hours while away. This is one situation where I would be happy for the minutes to go backwards.
But no rest for the wicked. After a few hours of becoming one with a picnic blanket and some bottles of wine, its time for the night to turn the bass up...I am going dancing.
Preparations are slightly messy, to say the least. Downing tumblers full of wine (we gave up on the wine glasses way back when we discovered they didn't hold enough) there is lots of singing, jostling for mirror space, frequent cigarette breaks and I do believe there was even a dance rendition to the Spice Girls song "Stop". Perhaps we should have taken heed from the words of the song - a neighbour politely knocked on the door and asked us to turn it down a smidgen.
Into a cab we pile, a merry duo off to meet like minded party goers. We meet up with my friends, some of whom I was having beers with only that afternoon, and immediately hit the bar for vodka doubles.
Don't judge me - it saves time lining up later on.
The place is trading as an R&B funk joint tonight, so there is plenty of bounce bounce baby bounce factor. Lots of gorgeous men too, I muse, roving an expert eye over the talent out tonight. But plenty of time for that later - I'm here to shake a tail feather. So dance, we do. We drop it like its hot. We raise the roof. We like big butts and we cannot lie. We ain't no Hollaback Girl. We never knew a love like, love like this before. You get the idea.
I duck outside for some fresh air (read : my eighteen millionth cigarette for the night) and in my drunken state manage to smash a glass all over some poor girls exposed foot. I apologise profusely, and the apology is taken with poor grace. Never mind. She had ugly shoes on anyway.
Eventually we tire of dancing and decide to get a meal from one of the late night chinese establishments. Into the place we tumble, our shiny eye makeup and high heels at odds with the lino flooring and chinese warbling coming from the karaoke on the screens. Meals are ordered, drinks are ordered and finally a little bit of order is in place.
Easy conversation is flung from table side to table side, but I am restless. I feel there is still so much to the night and pray the others are of a similar frame of mind. No such luck, to my disappointment. So I cast my nets wider and the following phone conversation ensues.
"Hello darlings, what are you up to tonight?"
"OMG, come out! We are at a foam party and completely off our faces."
"Lovely, I shall see you in a bit. Meet me out the front."
"Its a lesbian foam party!!"
"A lesbian foam party?"
"Yah, and there are hot lesbians everywhere. I slipped in the foam and fell off the stage!!"
"Hmm, ok. I will see you soon."
I share a taxi with one of my mates as we are going the same way, and I can kind of sense he wants to come too, he just needs some very strong arm twisting. I'm not sure how long I'll stay though so I leave it for this time, leaving a mental memo for another day.
My friend meets me at the door with a flaming great big kiss. I suspect this is due to the door bitches at the club turning away a lot of men, due to it being, as you know, a lesbian affair. I have no troubles getting in (hmmmm...) and once past the velvet rope I stop in shock for a second.
There is foam everywhere.
I can barely see some peoples faces, they are covered from head to toe in bubbles. Immediately I regret coming in open toed heels and a satin dress. I am absurdly over dressed for such an event, however I am feeling slightly mollified by the appreciative looks being thrown my way by the women in the area.
I traipse downstairs to the lower dance floor, where the foam abates slightly and order drinks at the bar. Double vodkas again, yes. In for a penny, in for a pound, I say.
After some very tentative dancing (the floor is slippery) we manage to get outside to the smoking area, where I am immediately abandoned by my companion with promises to return in one second.
I'm not too fussed and lean against the wall, drink in hand. After a few minutes, I'm approached by two good looking males and small chit chat is made. While this occurs, I spot a gorgeous specimen of an man leaning on the opposite wall, casting a glance in my direction every now and again. What would I do here? I've started talking to these two other guys, it would be unfeasibly rude to turn away and start a conversation with another?
I head back inside and the night, as they tend to do, passes in a blur. Nothing much of note happens, except I have a great time, which is something in itself, I suppose. As I leave the club I notice I don't have any more cash in my wallet and so a call to the ATM is necessary. I walk down the street, in the midst of drunks, junkies, police, rowdy boys, slutty girls - if you live in Sydney you will know I'm referring to Oxford St ...
Before I reach the cashpoint though, I hear someone behind me trying to get my attention. I turn around and I swear you could have knocked me over with a feather - it was the boy from the alleyway. He saw me leave and had left his friends to come and speak to me. Now, I would never let an effort like that be for nothing so I went and had some drinks with me in the nearest pub.
He was lovely to speak to and spend time with, opening doors, pulling out my chair (??) and I enjoyed a nice easy banter with him. Until he spoke about his ex girlfriend. I asked him when they had broken up, as it seemed to me it must have been recent. He said a few hours ago. I thanked him for the drinks and then left.
Did I overreact? I think not. I would have just rather been on my way home then spending time with someone who obviously was out for a revenge/spite shag. In another world, maybe.
On my way home, I drink dial. I ring my Go To Guy, the boy down the road. He was thankfully awake and so instead of going straight home I get dropped off at the boys house. I'll not divulge too many details, but lets just say itches got scratched, cuddles were given, and a few hours later with the sun high up in the sky I got dropped at my front door, high heels in my hand.
What an utterly fabulous night.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Out Of The Mouth Of Babes...
My 5 year old cousin told me today that she has a boyfriend.
I didnt know whether to laugh or cry.
I didnt know whether to laugh or cry.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
My Big Day Out
The sun comes creeping over the city skyline. Its the early hours of the morning but already I can feel the force of the heat. Sure enough, I check the weather forecast for today and its expected to be in the 40s. This is great news to me as I have nothing for my day planned except for my attendence at the most highly anticipated music festival so far this year.
The Temper Trap. Muse. Dizzee Rascal. Passion Pit. Ladyhawke. Calvin Harris. Powderfinger. Girl Talk. Am I listing the days line up or scrolling through my Ipod? All I know is that I cannot wait for the day to begin.
I've got to finish work first. Foolishly I decided to cover the overnight shift and then go straight to the festival from there. Adrenaline will fuel me, I assured myself. Maybe that, and a little chemical assistance. Does that shock you? It needn't.
Yes, I am an occasional drug taker. I indulge every now and again, to make a situation more fun, to make people seem more interesting, to make myself a little wilder. As long as I never cross that line where I NEED to escape from reality, I think it harms no one. Altering reality is fine.
So begins my day of fun. It helps I have two willing partners in crime who match me in action, from lines to outfits and spritzing of perfume. We dont often hang out, but when situations like this arise, we fit together like a perfectly molded jigsaw. Sometimes the picture aint so pretty though.
By now its late morning and the heat is drilling onto us with a ferocity that is only just bearable. Im glad its this rather than raining though - Glastonbury it is not.
My heart is racing all day though, and its not just from the drugs or the millions of drug dogs and police around. The male outfit of choice seems to be checked shorts, a white singlet and a fedora of some type. This is exactly what my ex chose to wear almost every day. So all around me I see him. Lining up at the bar. Walking towards a stall. Throwing his head back with laughter. Dancing along to a song i know he loves.
Of course I know its not him. The hair colour is wrong. The shoulders are not wide enough. The smile, although sometimes welcoming and daring, is never his. But for a tiny second, I see him in everyone that walks past.
Then of course, it happens. Dancing away to the maestro that is Calvin Harris, I see the back of a head. I would recognise those shoulders, that dance move, that uninhibited smile anywhere. It IS him. And I feel like I need to throw up.
I stand stock still for what seems like forever. Then realising my friends are looking at me in a concerned manner, I tell them I'll be right back and disappear a little ways into the crowd. From this vantage point I'm free to stare at him and take it all in. It takes every fibre of my being to not run towards him and bury my face into his neck and cry. It really does. I want to touch him so badly I can feel a physical pain in my chest.
Luckily there is pain. Something stopped me from running over to him. The memory of the pain he has caused me, I have caused him. And so in the midst of thousands of gleeful dancers under pulsating lights and writhing bodies - somewhere deep down inside me, I take my first baby step towards letting him go.
Thats not to say when i returned to my friends it still wasnt burning in my mind. So I danced with forced gusto, I laughed a little hysterically when something was shouted towards my ear, I cast covert glances towards him, only a few desperate feet away. It would have been so easy to walk down that path.
But this is the path he has chosen to take, and so I must walk down another.
Scratch that - i refuse to walk. No one ever said I wasnt allowed to dance my way down that path. So dance I did. And shall continue to do.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
The Temper Trap. Muse. Dizzee Rascal. Passion Pit. Ladyhawke. Calvin Harris. Powderfinger. Girl Talk. Am I listing the days line up or scrolling through my Ipod? All I know is that I cannot wait for the day to begin.
I've got to finish work first. Foolishly I decided to cover the overnight shift and then go straight to the festival from there. Adrenaline will fuel me, I assured myself. Maybe that, and a little chemical assistance. Does that shock you? It needn't.
Yes, I am an occasional drug taker. I indulge every now and again, to make a situation more fun, to make people seem more interesting, to make myself a little wilder. As long as I never cross that line where I NEED to escape from reality, I think it harms no one. Altering reality is fine.
So begins my day of fun. It helps I have two willing partners in crime who match me in action, from lines to outfits and spritzing of perfume. We dont often hang out, but when situations like this arise, we fit together like a perfectly molded jigsaw. Sometimes the picture aint so pretty though.
By now its late morning and the heat is drilling onto us with a ferocity that is only just bearable. Im glad its this rather than raining though - Glastonbury it is not.
My heart is racing all day though, and its not just from the drugs or the millions of drug dogs and police around. The male outfit of choice seems to be checked shorts, a white singlet and a fedora of some type. This is exactly what my ex chose to wear almost every day. So all around me I see him. Lining up at the bar. Walking towards a stall. Throwing his head back with laughter. Dancing along to a song i know he loves.
Of course I know its not him. The hair colour is wrong. The shoulders are not wide enough. The smile, although sometimes welcoming and daring, is never his. But for a tiny second, I see him in everyone that walks past.
Then of course, it happens. Dancing away to the maestro that is Calvin Harris, I see the back of a head. I would recognise those shoulders, that dance move, that uninhibited smile anywhere. It IS him. And I feel like I need to throw up.
I stand stock still for what seems like forever. Then realising my friends are looking at me in a concerned manner, I tell them I'll be right back and disappear a little ways into the crowd. From this vantage point I'm free to stare at him and take it all in. It takes every fibre of my being to not run towards him and bury my face into his neck and cry. It really does. I want to touch him so badly I can feel a physical pain in my chest.
Luckily there is pain. Something stopped me from running over to him. The memory of the pain he has caused me, I have caused him. And so in the midst of thousands of gleeful dancers under pulsating lights and writhing bodies - somewhere deep down inside me, I take my first baby step towards letting him go.
Thats not to say when i returned to my friends it still wasnt burning in my mind. So I danced with forced gusto, I laughed a little hysterically when something was shouted towards my ear, I cast covert glances towards him, only a few desperate feet away. It would have been so easy to walk down that path.
But this is the path he has chosen to take, and so I must walk down another.
Scratch that - i refuse to walk. No one ever said I wasnt allowed to dance my way down that path. So dance I did. And shall continue to do.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey xx
Shaking a Tail Feather
So its been a while since Ive had a chance to update this. Quite a lot has happened since then, so I hope to do all of the events justice by recalling them to their full potential.
The last time I wrote was just after that mind blowing concert I went to. Happiness and fun has been fleeting of late, so it was refreshing for me to have such a great time. There was a true lack of pretension and worry on the night due to me doing something I enjoyed, being with good friends and listening to a kick ass band.
After the concert, I convinced my girlfriend to go out for a few drinks with me. Off we went to the seediest part of town, but any die hard party girl worth her stilettos will tell you thats where all the action happens. Fast forward to a grungy hip little bar and we are downing shots poured from a teapot. Lethal, so but yummy.
Left by myself for a rare moment, a guy comes over to me and introduces himself. I look up and clock unbelievably blue eyes so I agree to him buying me a drink and have a little chat with him. He's a lovely person and we share quite a lot in common so we swap numbers and organise to have drinks another night.
After this, the bar is getting quite crowded and so some extraordinarily cute boys sit at the end of our table. Immediately glances are shot under lowered lashes, coy smiles are exchanged and I may have even been guilty of some hair flicking. As if out of a line up, i pick my favourite boy and luckily he is the one sat next to me. So when an arm lightly brushes against mine, I dont move away. When a thigh is pressed up against mine under the table I press back.
Conversation takes a back seat to the real communication thats being made between us. In fact, I dont recall a word he said to me that night, just how his eyes glint of mischief.
Sadly, as they have a wont to do, all good nights draw to a close. Farewells are called for and so i lean over to kiss him on a cheek. My aim is somewhat misdirected and I end up with a lingering kiss full of heat and passion and promise. I take his number and small chit chat is made to call.
Two numbers in one night. Quite a change from the self imposed celibacy Ive been in for the last few years. (There is an exception to this rule, but we neednt talk about that at this time.)
A small realisation though. I'll spoil the story by saying that although we did try, nothing lasting eventuated from either of those guys. However what I truly believe the big step that I've made is that I got out there and I flirted and had fun and had a random snog and took numbers and flicked my hair and added a little swing to my walk and thought about somebody other than HIM.
Its that kind of realisation that makes me think that its going to be ok in the end.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey
The last time I wrote was just after that mind blowing concert I went to. Happiness and fun has been fleeting of late, so it was refreshing for me to have such a great time. There was a true lack of pretension and worry on the night due to me doing something I enjoyed, being with good friends and listening to a kick ass band.
After the concert, I convinced my girlfriend to go out for a few drinks with me. Off we went to the seediest part of town, but any die hard party girl worth her stilettos will tell you thats where all the action happens. Fast forward to a grungy hip little bar and we are downing shots poured from a teapot. Lethal, so but yummy.
Left by myself for a rare moment, a guy comes over to me and introduces himself. I look up and clock unbelievably blue eyes so I agree to him buying me a drink and have a little chat with him. He's a lovely person and we share quite a lot in common so we swap numbers and organise to have drinks another night.
After this, the bar is getting quite crowded and so some extraordinarily cute boys sit at the end of our table. Immediately glances are shot under lowered lashes, coy smiles are exchanged and I may have even been guilty of some hair flicking. As if out of a line up, i pick my favourite boy and luckily he is the one sat next to me. So when an arm lightly brushes against mine, I dont move away. When a thigh is pressed up against mine under the table I press back.
Conversation takes a back seat to the real communication thats being made between us. In fact, I dont recall a word he said to me that night, just how his eyes glint of mischief.
Sadly, as they have a wont to do, all good nights draw to a close. Farewells are called for and so i lean over to kiss him on a cheek. My aim is somewhat misdirected and I end up with a lingering kiss full of heat and passion and promise. I take his number and small chit chat is made to call.
Two numbers in one night. Quite a change from the self imposed celibacy Ive been in for the last few years. (There is an exception to this rule, but we neednt talk about that at this time.)
A small realisation though. I'll spoil the story by saying that although we did try, nothing lasting eventuated from either of those guys. However what I truly believe the big step that I've made is that I got out there and I flirted and had fun and had a random snog and took numbers and flicked my hair and added a little swing to my walk and thought about somebody other than HIM.
Its that kind of realisation that makes me think that its going to be ok in the end.
Good luck in life and love,
Honey
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