You’re good. Chiefly your eyes, I think, and that throb you get in your voice when you say things like "Be generous, Mr Spade"

I’m living in black and white this week. I’ve done nothing but watch old films noirs (only to find that not all noirs are actually noirs) and make notes about people’s costumes, then read up on some fashion history. That’s right, I’m doing a big, a huge, ghostwriting assignment and it’s starting to permeate my life. But I’m not complaining. I’m just beginning to be a little overwhelmed and I’m glad it will all be over by tomorrow night.

Today, I’ve had a bit of a distraction because I interviewed a guy for my newspaper. He’s a fellow student of mine and a really special man. Not special as in “stop eating the paste” special! Special, because of how his mind works, what he does in life, what he’s driven by. It was a delight to interview him and that strange thing that happens to me a lot happened again. He’s a normal fellow, looks wise. A bit on the plump side and his sideburns are noticeable, but nothing truly extraordinary one way or the other. And then, as we warmed up for the interview (yes, interviews need warm-ups) and then did it (yes, I realise I sound dirty, go on say it, I’ll wait till you’re done giggling), he transformed in front of my eyes. His eyes got sparkly and beautiful, I noticed his big hands (yumm!), the way his mouth pleasantly curled when he smiled and his overall very, well, manly composure. My brain has done this lots of times. I start liking someone, seeing them for who they are and then my brain zeroes in on all the attractiveness that is suddenly becoming visible. Does that happen to any of you too?

The rest of my life is trickling along rather gently, with a meander here and there. I’ve got a lot of other things to do and think about, but they don’t really overwhelm me. I’ve decided to try Weight Watchers, starting next week and I’ve got a freelancer job as a critic at a Swiss internet platform that deals with films. I’m over the moon about that, but it hasn’t had a chance to sink in yet, what with the films noirs. Next week, all next week.

I’ve got a funny story to relate, concerning Mr Bugs, so nicknamed for his real name’s evocation of a rabbit. Remember the man who asked me out on a date on Valentine’s Day? The one who did it because he felt enthralled by the throb of my voice when I said things like “would you consider donating more money to STC, Mr Bugs”? I thought he had forgotten all about me and was beginning to feel relieved he did, when suddenly my cell went buzz, buzz this evening. And sure enough, here was Mr Bugs, texting me this: “Good evening Anna. On the evening of the 14th of February your voice charmed me and you’ve been kind enough to give me your number. Do you remember? How are you? Will I have the pleasure of meeting you?”. Yes, this is a direct translation from the original French version. My voice charmed him, eh? Shouldn’t he have been aching to hear it again, then and actually call me instead of texting me? Yes, yes, I know he was probably too shy. Still, it would have impressed me a little more. I really don’t know how I feel about going on with this guy. He’s older still than the Spaniard (who is 38), somewhere in his mid-forties. And he lives miles away. Switzerland is small, but I’m not going to commute to see Mr Bugs. Then again, there’s the romantic in me who asks herself whether maybe she’s being too rash and maybe this guy would be just wonderful.
So I did the only thing that came to mind: play coy. Yes, you may crucify me now. As a matter of fact, I’ll hand you the nails myself. I don’t usually play coy. I don’t bat my lashes until I’m actually with someone, I don’t play hard to get on purpose, ever, I don’t pout my lips and cross my legs in eager, but demurely masked, anticipation of the gentleman picking up my handkerchief and the tab. But Mr Bugs, as I said earlier, didn’t really impress me with this text message. You might argue that it’s hard to impress anyone with a text, but trust me, it’s been done. I’ve been blown away my texts before, so I know what I’m half expecting here. So I replied this: “Good evening Mr Bugs. I do in fact remember you. I know you would like to meet me and I appreciate the compliment, but is it really a good idea? I think you would probably be quite disappointed. And aside from that, we really don’t know each other at all and certainly not enough to be planning a rendez-vous just yet. I thought you’d forgotten me and maybe it’s best if you do?”. I think I made everything quite clear, or (you are welcome to input here)? I mean, I’m just being honest. I really do think he’d be disappointed in meeting me. Let’s just try this, shall we?

Mr Bugs: So what do you do in life, besides working in a call-centre?
Ms: Coy: Well, I ghostwrite, I’m a journalism student, I speak 4 languages, passionately. I’m a huge film freak, I like to read, paint, sing, laugh loud and I’m really, really trying to go swimming regularly again.
Mr Bugs: Wow, nice. So what do you look like?
Ms Coy: I’m 5′9”, green-blue eyes, pouty lips [yes, I do in fact have those], auburn, shoulder-length hair.

That’s an accurate description. That, mixed with my apparently so spell-binding voice, should have made the man fall in love with me by now.

Ms Coy: Oh, and I’m overweight.
Mr Bugs: Umm, ok…

And out of love again.

I know I’m doing what I do best: anticipating the worst-case scenario. But let’s be realistic, how likely is it he’ll never call again? Very. By saying what I did, I at least warned him. If he asks why, I wil tell him. If he then sticks around and still tries to get a date, I’ll be a little more impressed and might consider swapping a few phone calls with him. If not, he’ll be just another little story in my life. In the last half-year or so, I’ve met a few men who didn’t mind my weight at all. Actually, I was really surprised at how many there are who don’t mind. That new awareness came, in no small part, from my friend Roxey (link to the side), who taught me how to brighten up about myself. It’s not that I don’t like who I am right now. It’s just that I think I could like her a whole lot more if she weighed the right weight. I am trying to change that around, but it’s gonna take time. And I’m really, really afraid of setbacks. There was a time, seven years ago, where I had lost that weight. I was too pubescent to realise what I had achieved and sure enough blew it when the first guy I really fell in love with kicked me to the curb. And in the stomach. And in the kidneys. And ripped my heart out. And let me watch it slowly stop beating in his hands. But back then, I remember swearing to myself I would never weigh in the triple digits again. Well, I do at the moment, and I don’t like it.
The Spaniard doesn’t mind and he’s gone to great lengths already to assure me he’s really into me and my body, either which way. I trust that now. But Mr Bugs? He’s heard a sexy, contralto voice on the telephone and he’s imagining Angelina Jolie or Catherine Zeta-Jones on the other end of the line. And I’m just not sure this is a good basis to start from.

Anyways, that having been lamented upon and discussed at greater length than I thought when I started this post, I will now go to bed to catch some much needed Zzzzzzzzs.

Have a good Friday and weekend for me (’cause I’ll be working overtime), I hope you are all well and happy.

Peace,

Anna

Lay lady lay, lay across my big brass bed…

It is done, I’ve finally got the dual powers of a good household in my flat: a bed and a vacuum cleaner. Up until a week ago, I had a crushed wooden mess topped with a ripped mattress as a “bed” and I was borrowing the, probably septuagenarian, vacuum from my neighbour.

Now I didn’t actually get a big brass bed (that’s just a Dylan song that makes me cry) but I did get a big… canopy bed. That’s right! Being the rational girl that I am, I had actually decided that getting a canopy bed at this point in time was really too decadent, even for my standards. But when the bed I ordered was out of stock in Switzerland and the one they could deliver right away was the canopy bed, well, I took it as a sign. And I haven’t looked back since. This bed is so beautiful, I want to live in it. It’s huge, high and I’ve hung satiny, see-through drapes on it in spice orange and grape purple and just a little petrol blue. Now my flat looks like Frida Kahlo exploded in it, but I love it that way.
I’ll spare you the details of my vacuum, but I will share these two things. When I mentioned having bought one to the Spaniard, his first reaction was: “you bought a vacuum? like a naughty one?!” Umm, no silly, a real vacuum. For dust and stuff. Second: when I’d vacuumed for the first time, I switched it off and just sat there and stared at it for a while. I felt old and settled suddenly. It’s way weird having my own hoover. When I said that to Miriam she was quick to put things into perspective though: “honey, you’ve got your own flat!”. I guess I do. Not that I own it, but you know.

In other exciting news about my flat, I got my windows secured with locks on the inside and the outside yesterday. So now I’m finally starting to feel a little more secure again in my own home, after that unfortunate episode some weeks ago. Doesn’t keep me from sleeping with a hunting knife next to my pink plushie pillow (yes, I do have a baby pink plushie pillow, get over it). Come to think of it, that image is a pretty good representation of what I am like… I’ve read articles lately about what is considered masculine and what feminine in our society and as always, there were a lot of masculine things that I do and that I consider normal and necessary, that “typical” women wouldn’t. For example, I clean things when they are visibly dirty, not when I figure enough days have passed to be giving the flat another clean-up even though nothing shows. Just goes to show how deep-rooted that bisexuality of mine is.

Onwards to more fun things: I got asked out on a date on Valentine’s Day. Usually, I really begrudge V-Day, but that’s only because I’ve never gotten a card, flowers or pralines on V-Day. The only things I’ve ever gotten were disastrously tedious parties, meeting men who turned out to be completely psychos (here’s looking at you, Gordon) and a great big whooping can of nothing. So come Valentine’s Day, I’m usually pretty anxious for it to be over.
This year, I got a text message from the Spaniard (because he was away on business, saving the world again or something) and on my last call in the call centre I work in, I got asked out. So, it was my last call and I was eager to get it over with quickly. So when the guy picks up, I say my line: “hi, my name is Anna and I’m from Save the Children, are you ….?” and the guy answers, without even thinking about it, “aww, I thought it was someone calling me for Valentine’s Day”. To which I, somewhat cruelly, probably, responded “sorry to disappoint you sir”. I pushed forward: “we’d like to thank you for being such a devoted member of STC and I would like to talk to you about our newest project and ask you a question, is that alright or are you busy?”. To which Mr Man replied “no, it’s ok, I’m not busy. It’s not as if I were sitting in a candle-lit restaurant with a beautiful woman across the table” in a really sad voice too. He was beginning to throw me off-track a bit, but I tried not to let it show and, appearing undeterred, carried on with my rant about the project and could he imagine donating more money? He said no but did remark that I had a beautiful voice. I blushed a deep shade of red and said “that’s fine and that would be all from me, unless you’ve got some more questions?” and then there was a beat. Then he said: “actually yes, when can we meet?”. He was so serious and I bet that on any other night of the year, he would not have had the courage to ask such a blunt and daring question, to a complete stranger no less. It went back and forth, with me saying I wasn’t allowed to keep his co-ordinates and him begging for my first name and my phone number, while all the time Simon was waving at me and making the thumb across the neck gestures that mean “cut him off, we need to close up!”. In all that confusion, I gave him my number to get it over with. He didn’t sound like a serial killer and I didn’t give him my listed number anyway. And I didn’t have the heart, on that special night, to blow him off brutally. Actually, all I could see in front of my inner eye was William H. Macy in Magnolia saying “I’ve got so much love to give and nowhere to put it”. Mr Man never called, but I didn’t really expect him to. After all, he probably woke up the next day and felt like he’d made an arse out of himself. Poor him though. I hope he finds someone closer to where he lives, who is not just a nice voice on the telephone.
It definitely made for an interesting Valentine’s Day though.

Now however, I do have to return to the mundane life. I’ve got a fridge to fill (well, sorta, it’s never actually full), some shoes and a nightstand to buy, some bills to pay and some work to do. Sounds wildly exciting, doesn’t it? At least I sleep with a hunting knife strapped to my shin (well, sorta), that’s got to be worth some points on the excitement scale.

Live long and prosper,

Anna

Hello, my name is Fuck You

Gotta love blogthings sometimes. Look what happened with this test:

If You Were Slightly Different, Your Name Would Be:

Angelina

What Would Your Name Be If You Were Slightly Different?

Could this be any cooler? I just knew I had some Angelina in me. Ok, except for the weird adopting-kids-and-giving-them-weird-names thing. But other than that, we’re like, totally like, sisters dude! Hey, if I do the Madonna thing and decide that you now all have to call me Angelina, would you go along with it? No? Huh. Well as long as you don’t call me “Friska” like my French grandmother used to. I warn you, one of those and you’re out. For good. But you wouldn’t do that to me, would ya? Ok, this is getting slightly out of hand. I’ll leave you be and go tidy my flat for Monday, when my new bed arrives. Woohoo! New bed, new bed, nananananaaa!

Ok, going now. Seriously, don’t push, I know where the door is. Alright! I’m out of here!

Anna

ps: don’t take the post title too personally, just go check out Blade: Trinity

Tell me how planet Vulcan looks when the moon is full

Just a short post to inform you all of my newest baby: my poetry blog (link to the right). Mixing my poetry into this blog suddenly felt like a drag and I didn’t care much for explaining all that stuff that springs from my brain anymore. So now, fitting the moods and events narrated here and also just appearing out of thin air, there’s a whole new blog for my poetry, my songs, my fiction. It would make me happy if you checked it out.

Love,

Anna