I've been away. I've been in love. But at home it seems like everything I've been running away from has been nipping at my heels, trying to catch up with me. Even if I try to live life in this paradise mind frame with my new "no worries" attitude, every time I look over my shoulder, my vices, and my exes, are gaining on me.
It's strange how so much of you can change when your away, but everything else stands so still, nagging at you the moment you arrive, testing the endurance of your new found enlightened self. For me, those tests came in several varieties, most recent of which, was the obligatory "catch up" with my London Boy.
I had been dreading (and secretly anticipating) this reunion before my return as messages of the facebook and text message variety flooded my various inboxes. And although my heart is spoken for, my curiosity was not. Had he changed? Was he still in love with me? As he was ever the dramatist, I couldn't help what beyond romantic escapade awaited me, even if for propriety sake, it needed to be declined.
I found myself swept up in a wind whirl of engagements as soon as I got home, but when my London Boy finally called to set up a day I was outwardly torn (is it proper to go?) and inwardly ecstatic (finally I'll know what he's been thinking!). The day came and went without acknowledgment (on his end) until a few days later, when a phone call with a profuse apology followed, "Can we please reschedule?"
Ever the optimist, I rescheduled. But to enrage my fury, the next set day came and went without pause. A few days later, "I guess we both forgot," his text message swooned. (I did not though I did mark it in pencil), "Can we please reschedule for next Tuesday, no more rain cheques." I begrudgingly agreed. I was starting to lose my curiousness and instead start measuring up this behaviour to the kiwi who has my heart and never missed a date or a long distance phone call.
Tuesday, at 5pm, I get a text message, "I have some classic bad news. I'm afraid I have to abort our plans. I'm sorry. [enter lame excuse about work] I've been looking forward to this for some time. Can we please reschedule?" Here we are in the same area code and the boy can't keep a date if his life depended on it, meanwhile, my kiwi always finds a way to tell me he loves me, despite the 5,000 Km and useless cellphone carriers that keep us under lock and contract. My curiosity abated, I step out of the useless reschedule revolving door with my reply, "It's okay. We don't have to, it never seems to be the right time."
Showing posts with label London Boy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London Boy. Show all posts
Wednesday
i say goodbye and you say hello
The thing about when someone disappoints you, is that the more they do it, the more you expect it. And the more you expect it, the more complacent you get about it. So instead of expecting more and taking action to prevent yourself from being disappointed, you just continue to expect it and you just continue to be disappointed.
I learnt about the disappointment cycle from my London Boy. For example, he says, "I'll call you before you leave," (but I already knew it wouldn't happen) and he didn't (I excused it by rationalizing that he never does call, even when he says he will). He says, "I'll write you a letter for the plane." He does, but I get it three days after my flight.
Is it too much to ask for a valentine who will call when he says he will and send me a letter for the flight before my flight?
Perhaps I should find a valentine who I'll end up saying hello to a lot more than I'll end up saying goodbye to. At least that's some kind of direction!
I learnt about the disappointment cycle from my London Boy. For example, he says, "I'll call you before you leave," (but I already knew it wouldn't happen) and he didn't (I excused it by rationalizing that he never does call, even when he says he will). He says, "I'll write you a letter for the plane." He does, but I get it three days after my flight.
Is it too much to ask for a valentine who will call when he says he will and send me a letter for the flight before my flight?
Perhaps I should find a valentine who I'll end up saying hello to a lot more than I'll end up saying goodbye to. At least that's some kind of direction!
Monday
Oh, that pesky ocean
I'm leaving the country and after a couple of playful text messages from the London Boy, I decide to take matters in my own hands in the form of an ultimatum: if you want to see me, set a date. Ten minutes later, he texts, "Monday?"
I think I was beyond nervous and excited to see him. It had been a whole season since we've seen each other. We meet in the city centre and he is looking so much like the handsome boy I could never keep my eyes off of. I easily fall into his embrace as we greet each other in the middle of a busy downtown walkway. "You look beautiful," he says. I snap my phone closed and we're off.
We walk to the restaurant, an understated place on Queen's St. On the way, we're chatting and catching up, and the whole time I'm beaming, soaking in every word, every nuance, every little bit of him. As we wait to be seated he opens his arms to me. We hug like nothing else exists in the world, everything melts away except us in this moment... until the hostess clears her throat and we turn to be shown to our table.
As we share a strainer of beans, he tells me of his life at home, his hopes, his accomplishments. I'm so proud of him. Of who he is becoming. I stare across the table and with a settled resolve realize that this handsome boy is everything I want, but something I still can't have.
He treats, and he proposes we do it again, when I get home because "you are coming back aren't you?" We part at the subway with a kiss on the cheek and a promise for an e-mail to be printed and read "on the plane, only."
Later when I get his text message, I know that even though an ocean will be between us once again, it can't keep us apart forever.
I think I was beyond nervous and excited to see him. It had been a whole season since we've seen each other. We meet in the city centre and he is looking so much like the handsome boy I could never keep my eyes off of. I easily fall into his embrace as we greet each other in the middle of a busy downtown walkway. "You look beautiful," he says. I snap my phone closed and we're off.
We walk to the restaurant, an understated place on Queen's St. On the way, we're chatting and catching up, and the whole time I'm beaming, soaking in every word, every nuance, every little bit of him. As we wait to be seated he opens his arms to me. We hug like nothing else exists in the world, everything melts away except us in this moment... until the hostess clears her throat and we turn to be shown to our table.
As we share a strainer of beans, he tells me of his life at home, his hopes, his accomplishments. I'm so proud of him. Of who he is becoming. I stare across the table and with a settled resolve realize that this handsome boy is everything I want, but something I still can't have.
He treats, and he proposes we do it again, when I get home because "you are coming back aren't you?" We part at the subway with a kiss on the cheek and a promise for an e-mail to be printed and read "on the plane, only."
Later when I get his text message, I know that even though an ocean will be between us once again, it can't keep us apart forever.
Wednesday
Ticket to ride
I quit my jobs, I paid my tuition and today I've booked my seat on one of the few nonstop flights halfway around the world! It's time for some change of pace in this single girl's life and I'm 55 days away from an Australian adventure and the beginning of my Master's program. I can picture myself leaving all my worries, troubles, underpaid jobs, debt and useless love exploits away. Yippee! It hardly seems real, except that as soon as a little birdie announces my soon to be scarcity I get a phone call...
...from the London Boy. "I've been so self-absorbed. I'd hate for you to go a whole world away without me getting a chance to see you." His story sounds vaguely familiar. In fact, I'm absolutely certain I've heard it before. So without raising a shocked eyebrow I agree because this time I'll believe it when I see it.
And whether or not it happens, I still have a ticket to ride and I don't care!
...from the London Boy. "I've been so self-absorbed. I'd hate for you to go a whole world away without me getting a chance to see you." His story sounds vaguely familiar. In fact, I'm absolutely certain I've heard it before. So without raising a shocked eyebrow I agree because this time I'll believe it when I see it.
And whether or not it happens, I still have a ticket to ride and I don't care!
Friday
The dead weight
I know. It's been eons since I last posted on this blog. Guilty as charged. You're probably sitting there wondering, if I've resigned myself to old-maidom... stopped prepping for work with the same concentration, started going out to run errands in (gasp) lululemon pants or worse given up the battle with my hair. If these horrendous dispositions have manifested in me, how will you ever laugh at my irredeemable love life?
Fear not! I haven't given up on my quest for love. Truthfully, those admiring glances bestowed upon me really haven't garnered reciprocation. And, no I'm not, "let myself go" in any sense of the phrase. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm letting go of something else. Something that has been like an anchor, weighing me down, preventing me from moving forward: The London Boy (a.k.a. The Scientist).
GASP! Some of you are probably wondering what is with my sudden change of heart. (Let me first preface this by saying that none of this is sudden. If you can remember correctly I had been "waiting" for this to percolate into something for a long while). Lately not even my coffee has been percolating, (thanks to an utterly divine French press). I was minding my own business, looking at my "news feed" on facebook when I read a message posted on his wall. "Nice picture, London Boy, no wonder [enter ex-girlfriend's name here] can't get enough of you."
So, he's back at that! Am I mad? The thing is not really. The tedium of this pattern isn't becoming. It's obvious that his ex-girlfriend can't live without him.
Thankfully, I can.
Fear not! I haven't given up on my quest for love. Truthfully, those admiring glances bestowed upon me really haven't garnered reciprocation. And, no I'm not, "let myself go" in any sense of the phrase. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm letting go of something else. Something that has been like an anchor, weighing me down, preventing me from moving forward: The London Boy (a.k.a. The Scientist).
GASP! Some of you are probably wondering what is with my sudden change of heart. (Let me first preface this by saying that none of this is sudden. If you can remember correctly I had been "waiting" for this to percolate into something for a long while). Lately not even my coffee has been percolating, (thanks to an utterly divine French press). I was minding my own business, looking at my "news feed" on facebook when I read a message posted on his wall. "Nice picture, London Boy, no wonder [enter ex-girlfriend's name here] can't get enough of you."
So, he's back at that! Am I mad? The thing is not really. The tedium of this pattern isn't becoming. It's obvious that his ex-girlfriend can't live without him.
Thankfully, I can.
Tuesday
After a year between
After several false starts, I finally find myself face to face with my London boy.
As he turns and catches my eye for the first time in year, brimming over with a smile he opens his arms, and I fall into them.
It seems like it isn't happening, it seems too good to be true; to finally be around him after this long year apart. Yet, here we are, reaching for an embrace amongst the bustling Union Station crowd. He reaches out for another hug and for a moment, the world disappears, the crowd fades away, and the only thing that exists our perfectly blissful reunion.
Moments later I am presented with a multiple choice date: (a) watch the Jays Game, (b) go to the Clothing Show or (c) see the Chinese Lantern Festival. For those who know me, my choice would seem fairly obvious, but in all honesty, I was just happy to be arm in arm with my London boy, in the city I love.
After missing so much, after all the space, the change, the months, we seemed to easily fall back on our cheery, chatty ways. In the same way that he reached out his hand to me, as we ran across changing traffic lights, I felt like we were finally closing the gulf between us. We talked of many things on our long walk, about jobs, what was happening in the world, politics, our families, how things seem to change, our ideas of the future, preferential voting, the blue, blue sky, and never once thinking of the many kilometers we tread along the way back to each other's lives.
Between glass blowing, games, ice cream, lanterns and mazes, I found myself grabbing his hand, as he reached out to me as we crossed the rocks at the shore. Sitting upon one, looking out at the sailboats, the Toronto Island and the horizon, it was as if there was never an ocean between us. It was really as if I never missed him at all, because as he looked into my eyes, I realized he was finally, right there.
As he turns and catches my eye for the first time in year, brimming over with a smile he opens his arms, and I fall into them.
It seems like it isn't happening, it seems too good to be true; to finally be around him after this long year apart. Yet, here we are, reaching for an embrace amongst the bustling Union Station crowd. He reaches out for another hug and for a moment, the world disappears, the crowd fades away, and the only thing that exists our perfectly blissful reunion.
Moments later I am presented with a multiple choice date: (a) watch the Jays Game, (b) go to the Clothing Show or (c) see the Chinese Lantern Festival. For those who know me, my choice would seem fairly obvious, but in all honesty, I was just happy to be arm in arm with my London boy, in the city I love.
After missing so much, after all the space, the change, the months, we seemed to easily fall back on our cheery, chatty ways. In the same way that he reached out his hand to me, as we ran across changing traffic lights, I felt like we were finally closing the gulf between us. We talked of many things on our long walk, about jobs, what was happening in the world, politics, our families, how things seem to change, our ideas of the future, preferential voting, the blue, blue sky, and never once thinking of the many kilometers we tread along the way back to each other's lives.
Between glass blowing, games, ice cream, lanterns and mazes, I found myself grabbing his hand, as he reached out to me as we crossed the rocks at the shore. Sitting upon one, looking out at the sailboats, the Toronto Island and the horizon, it was as if there was never an ocean between us. It was really as if I never missed him at all, because as he looked into my eyes, I realized he was finally, right there.
Monday
When it rains, it pours
I know, it's been forever since I've posted. My bad. I've been taking a little hiatus from boys in general.
A cycle needed to be broken. I had to stop running back and forth, to and from my knight in shining whatever's arms. I am proud to say I have. I may have had to delete his phone number from my phone, delete him from my msn, and remove him from my facebook friends. I was cold when I spoke to him, and sharp and now I hear from him no more. Thank goodness!
I needed a break. And lots of space to clear my cloudy head. A month later here we are.
---
Superman and I have had some pretty awkward encounters at my editor's. Fumbling with words: mine. Expelling ill-timed compliments: his. And generally bashfully dancing around some blushing and coy smiles. A month later I've left my job there, partly due to editor's salacious indecency, armed with a weapon I've yet to use: Superman's phone number. I'll just tuck that away in my pocket for a rainy day.
---
Now onto more important things.
There is this boy, that I'm enamored with. Like I'm crazy about him, no exaggeration. Think about when the Little Mermaid meets Prince Eric. (For a more recent point of reference: think Lisa Simpson when she meets Colin in The Simpson's Movie.) It's ridiculous. I'm a total idiot about and around him. And we have this decidedly romantic past, and I may or may not have his picture in my wallet. I'm a mushy melted image of what used to be a rational and intelligent woman, all because of him.
So I'm thrilled (and my friends are skeptically so) when I hear he's home from being away. Yup, he's back from doing his Master's at a most prestigious British university and from being a scientist. So let's call him the Scientist because I think it's quite cute to think of him as a Scientist. tee hee. Now I'm running away with myself, back to the point...
Which is, that this morning I open my MSN and see he's online. I message him and he writes back, "darling, can we get together this week?" I'm a puddle at the keys of my macbook. "I know the best place to get a green tea ice cap" (that was one of 'our' things). "call me this week." I'm not sure any rational human being can rescue me from my extreme giddiness. I'm pretty much glowing. It's like happiness is just running right through me. I may have been liable to jump around and do a happy dance. It wasn't pretty, but it sure felt great!
---
Icing.
My mom and I hit up one of my favourite Yonge and Eligible restaurants, and does it ever deliver more than yummy Italian favourites, it seems my dreamy, charismatic, charming and buff waiter wants more than just to serve us.
As I wait for our table, he tries to manage a smile from me and probes me for details about my life, "why are you downtown?" "are you always so fashionable?" "if it's cold enough for boots, where is your jacket?" and then he utters the most ill-fathomed word, heard in many contexts but which always produces that irrefutable sting, "princess" he coughs with what I can only assume is intended to be an endearing smile and wink.
We are seated, miraculously at the other side of the restaurant.
That is, until the lady behind me engages us ALL in a diatribe of her gossipy social woes. We have to move, my Mother decides. And move we do, right into his section. "To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?" He swoons.
As I ask about the porcini cream sauce, "Does that mean it's mushroom?" He replies, without skipping a beat (and on bended knee as he takes my order), "why, yes! Yes I am single." Trying not to blush and barely managing to keep composed I bite back a smile and say, "yes, I'll have that, please."
We are checked on incessantly, with the most attentive and gracious air, served with tid-bits about the following subjects:
a) how beautiful I am
b) that is all
always with an arm around my chair, his eyes looking into mine, words couched in the context of what a wonderful and eligible suitor he is, despite his one, self volunteered flaw: being Portuguese, not Italian.
As we leave, he pouts, "will I see you again?"
With a smile I manage a truthful, "maybe."
A cycle needed to be broken. I had to stop running back and forth, to and from my knight in shining whatever's arms. I am proud to say I have. I may have had to delete his phone number from my phone, delete him from my msn, and remove him from my facebook friends. I was cold when I spoke to him, and sharp and now I hear from him no more. Thank goodness!
I needed a break. And lots of space to clear my cloudy head. A month later here we are.
---
Superman and I have had some pretty awkward encounters at my editor's. Fumbling with words: mine. Expelling ill-timed compliments: his. And generally bashfully dancing around some blushing and coy smiles. A month later I've left my job there, partly due to editor's salacious indecency, armed with a weapon I've yet to use: Superman's phone number. I'll just tuck that away in my pocket for a rainy day.
---
Now onto more important things.
There is this boy, that I'm enamored with. Like I'm crazy about him, no exaggeration. Think about when the Little Mermaid meets Prince Eric. (For a more recent point of reference: think Lisa Simpson when she meets Colin in The Simpson's Movie.) It's ridiculous. I'm a total idiot about and around him. And we have this decidedly romantic past, and I may or may not have his picture in my wallet. I'm a mushy melted image of what used to be a rational and intelligent woman, all because of him.
So I'm thrilled (and my friends are skeptically so) when I hear he's home from being away. Yup, he's back from doing his Master's at a most prestigious British university and from being a scientist. So let's call him the Scientist because I think it's quite cute to think of him as a Scientist. tee hee. Now I'm running away with myself, back to the point...
Which is, that this morning I open my MSN and see he's online. I message him and he writes back, "darling, can we get together this week?" I'm a puddle at the keys of my macbook. "I know the best place to get a green tea ice cap" (that was one of 'our' things). "call me this week." I'm not sure any rational human being can rescue me from my extreme giddiness. I'm pretty much glowing. It's like happiness is just running right through me. I may have been liable to jump around and do a happy dance. It wasn't pretty, but it sure felt great!
---
Icing.
My mom and I hit up one of my favourite Yonge and Eligible restaurants, and does it ever deliver more than yummy Italian favourites, it seems my dreamy, charismatic, charming and buff waiter wants more than just to serve us.
As I wait for our table, he tries to manage a smile from me and probes me for details about my life, "why are you downtown?" "are you always so fashionable?" "if it's cold enough for boots, where is your jacket?" and then he utters the most ill-fathomed word, heard in many contexts but which always produces that irrefutable sting, "princess" he coughs with what I can only assume is intended to be an endearing smile and wink.
We are seated, miraculously at the other side of the restaurant.
That is, until the lady behind me engages us ALL in a diatribe of her gossipy social woes. We have to move, my Mother decides. And move we do, right into his section. "To what do I owe this extreme pleasure?" He swoons.
As I ask about the porcini cream sauce, "Does that mean it's mushroom?" He replies, without skipping a beat (and on bended knee as he takes my order), "why, yes! Yes I am single." Trying not to blush and barely managing to keep composed I bite back a smile and say, "yes, I'll have that, please."
We are checked on incessantly, with the most attentive and gracious air, served with tid-bits about the following subjects:
a) how beautiful I am
b) that is all
always with an arm around my chair, his eyes looking into mine, words couched in the context of what a wonderful and eligible suitor he is, despite his one, self volunteered flaw: being Portuguese, not Italian.
As we leave, he pouts, "will I see you again?"
With a smile I manage a truthful, "maybe."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)