22 January - Days of the dead?
It’s the month of reckoning clearly. Apart from having to consider yet again that no, just by being away and getting paid a salary does not mean that the debts have miraculously cleared themselves, there are other reckonings. Coincidences if you like but a few similar ones in a row surely make you wonder if there’s a hidden message you’re meant to understand.
So, on the beach in Kovalam, Toph runs into his most salient ex. The one that still bugs him. He was not meant to walk across that section of beach and not at that time but he was in a hurry to reach me and some friend on way to airport and so … took a small detour to destiny. He recognised her because she was wearing a dress she always wears on holiday. The Bitch in me registered that I never take on holiday the same clothes. Correction, there may be some useful staples depending on which country I’m visiting, take for example the useful blue thick thai silk ‘combats’ that go well under short or long dresses and could pass for salwar kameez style trousers. Those go to India in the year that the black or green version doesn’t. I digress. So there she was and he stopped and had a short, unsatisfying one sided conversation with her. She still looked at him like he was dirt despite not having substituted him with a new model and being there for 3 weeks of shivananda yoga (the boring one in our ashtanga opinion). Am sorry to have to agree with him that the vast majority of women on yoga holidays are single and not that happy usually. Boys go snowboarding instead. Having a considerate yoga teacher adjusting your position can serve as a bit of thrill nevertheless. You have to get your flesh pressed by whichever means.
My shiva god had no choice but to consider, after 24 hours of shell shock-ness compelled by me joining in (“of all the beaches in the world she had to come to MINE???” and accompanying tears only banished after a lovely, large glass of vodka), that he was indeed mega fortunate to be able to have enjoyed an idyllic holiday with a superior sexy being as his present Mohini (aka temptress). Ok well, last time I was in India I was a maharani for someone, this time I had to find another identity and I think Mohini is better, Maharanis may not be so keen to get down and dirty). No 'sexual items' were possible for a further 24 hours what with flying and er… probably seeing the ex in front of our eyes. And knowing she had a further week of holiday on top of our two. Toph forlornly saying “When we were together she could never take 3 weeks, she had to be at work on 2nd January”. My poor naïve boy. But afterwards normal service was resumed. Having a cold and blocked nose and having read that sex kicks starts immune system to fight colds, we just got stuck in.
So that was a bizarre encounter that taught him he’s well over her. Just still smarting a little for bruised ego. No wonder she thinks he’s a bully. He tried so hard to not let her leave him.
The day after our return, we’re strolling down a street, horrified at prices and the weather (though am secretly pleased the shops are empty and browse a little) and we cross with Eugene, my first real boss at first beloved job. So defined by not involving re-arranging items on shelves or serving people. Though it did involve a certain amount of serving rock ’n’ roll juice. Believe it or not I also had to divide my time fulfilling the demands of a total sexist clown who happened to be good at his promotion job and therefore excused for being contemporary of Leo Sawyer or something and demanding coffee by calling it rock ‘n’ roll juice. There was also some 80’s popstar who used to bring in his own herbal teabags (hello Roland). If only I had spotted this as a trend I’d now be the owner of Fresh and Wild but at 22 I just thought he was weird. A good chat ensues with Eugene who still looks very dapper at nearly 60 I think, wearing a Belstaff jacket. After he recommends we shop for bread at some incredible bakery we don’t know and he leaves, I tell the boyf that Euge looks so good partly because he always had a younger girlfriend and no kids I don’t think. What I learn from this me encounter has not yet filtered though it did remind me that the first time I was made redundant, for stupid reasons, the person I had entrusted with defending me, ie him, didn’t stand by me and if 25 years later I can still think that Pisceans are traitors, well, it’s his fault.
Later in the week am sat in an Italian restaurant at 5pm on a Saturday having a bite to eat, whilst reading the paper, whilst waiting for a friend to finish his class at Triyoga. I hear the voice before I look up and there is a nice ex, lover, not boyf, who is collecting a takeaway pizza. So he still lives in O… Rd. So he’s still smoking. The pizza at 5pm is a giveaway and possibly he’s still single as if he had a girlfriend, he’d be dining later with her as it’s Saturday night. Not sure if you agree with my Sherlock logic but I do. And btw his name had come up on holiday as he dated a the most boring singer ever, four letters, begins with D. and our friend A. also in Kovalam at same time (forgot to say two couples of friends were coincidentally on holiday in our spot) had turned down said singer's advances. I surprised Toph by saying I fancied said singer's brother. So I have the choice of calling out his name and chatting, but I remember that less than 2 years ago I finally deleted his number in order to avoid the occasional call (usually when I read something about him or something about someone he works with) because the call would invariably lead to making plans to meet and then we’d always not bother. So I stare down into my paper and if he saw me, he thought the same and didn’t cheerfully say hello. Shame, in a sense as was looking particularly dishy. Me, not him.
The following day, Sunday, I go to the cinema with a friend and she introduces me to a colleague who’s just come back from Kerala (exactly same dates as me) and who’s waxing lyrical about the time she spent in some eco resort cum orphanage, not my orphanage but still, spooky. And she works with people I know etc. No lessons are gleamed from this except to remind me to get in touch with two of her colleagues about some work I could advance their way. Plus she’s very tall and good looking and has a slightly northern footballer’s wife hairstyle so I could pally up and overcome my snobbish attitude vis a’ vis good looking women who probably got through to the interviews because of their looks. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know it’s helped me too in the past.
Later on same day am driving towards home and see a friend on the street who doesn’t belong to the neighbourhood. But not easy to stop, so I don’t. Lesson? Not sure and not as important as the one learnt a mere 1 hour early. Do not for a second think you can go to the last day of David Hockney exhibition at the National without having booked it a month ago. It's sold out of course, you silly, relaxed and chilled idiot.
On the Monday, today, a friend emails to say that an old flame of mine (a very long association, called relationship only for the first few heady weeks till I was disabused of the notion that I may be his only flame) is due to meet with her boss at 5pm. At 5pm she kindly proceeds to type in emails to me what she can overhear of their conversation. Very funny as in order to listen she has to stop typing and in order to type she can’t listen. Turns out he calls himself a director these days. Of what? Instant googling doesn’t tell me but he has a Wikipedia entry. Shock horror. I don’t have one. Can someone pls start a Lisa Taylor entry? I instantly take umbrage to some facts and enter the ‘editing’ section, coolly considering what to write. But the message warns me that I will have to sign in with own name and it will be clear who’s edited. I will consider further if it’s worth actually not being anonymous and still writing my corrections. Along the lines of ‘surely he’s still a selfish cunt?’. But shockingly my spy friend is also emailing that him and the wife are fostering a 12 year old white british kid. And this seriously stumps me. This can only have come about as he went so far into recanting his dissolute life that merely going NA and AA was not going to fill up all the hours in the day… That or it’s the wife extraction by way of going on the straight and narrow? I don’t know. The lessons seems to be that I no longer care as am not waiting with bated breath for further instalments on what he said/what he’s been up to and so on.
It goes on. Earlier as I step out of the train at my station, I step right in the arms of a lovely former colleague who’s been decanted at my station by the previous, malfunctioning train. In the 2 mins it takes her to push into the carriage, with much help from my hand on her large ass, we catch up briefly and she says ‘you look great with a tan’. The lesson here is that clearly if you have to run into people, it’s best it happens when you’re looking like you had botox. I kid you not, the frown line is just not there. Maybe that ayurvedic stuff works after all.
Only 9 days to go to the end of the month. Tonight am going to bed deliberately thinking of someone I’ll hope to see and will let you know if anyone materialises. I just hope I don’t run him over.
So, on the beach in Kovalam, Toph runs into his most salient ex. The one that still bugs him. He was not meant to walk across that section of beach and not at that time but he was in a hurry to reach me and some friend on way to airport and so … took a small detour to destiny. He recognised her because she was wearing a dress she always wears on holiday. The Bitch in me registered that I never take on holiday the same clothes. Correction, there may be some useful staples depending on which country I’m visiting, take for example the useful blue thick thai silk ‘combats’ that go well under short or long dresses and could pass for salwar kameez style trousers. Those go to India in the year that the black or green version doesn’t. I digress. So there she was and he stopped and had a short, unsatisfying one sided conversation with her. She still looked at him like he was dirt despite not having substituted him with a new model and being there for 3 weeks of shivananda yoga (the boring one in our ashtanga opinion). Am sorry to have to agree with him that the vast majority of women on yoga holidays are single and not that happy usually. Boys go snowboarding instead. Having a considerate yoga teacher adjusting your position can serve as a bit of thrill nevertheless. You have to get your flesh pressed by whichever means.
My shiva god had no choice but to consider, after 24 hours of shell shock-ness compelled by me joining in (“of all the beaches in the world she had to come to MINE???” and accompanying tears only banished after a lovely, large glass of vodka), that he was indeed mega fortunate to be able to have enjoyed an idyllic holiday with a superior sexy being as his present Mohini (aka temptress). Ok well, last time I was in India I was a maharani for someone, this time I had to find another identity and I think Mohini is better, Maharanis may not be so keen to get down and dirty). No 'sexual items' were possible for a further 24 hours what with flying and er… probably seeing the ex in front of our eyes. And knowing she had a further week of holiday on top of our two. Toph forlornly saying “When we were together she could never take 3 weeks, she had to be at work on 2nd January”. My poor naïve boy. But afterwards normal service was resumed. Having a cold and blocked nose and having read that sex kicks starts immune system to fight colds, we just got stuck in.
So that was a bizarre encounter that taught him he’s well over her. Just still smarting a little for bruised ego. No wonder she thinks he’s a bully. He tried so hard to not let her leave him.
The day after our return, we’re strolling down a street, horrified at prices and the weather (though am secretly pleased the shops are empty and browse a little) and we cross with Eugene, my first real boss at first beloved job. So defined by not involving re-arranging items on shelves or serving people. Though it did involve a certain amount of serving rock ’n’ roll juice. Believe it or not I also had to divide my time fulfilling the demands of a total sexist clown who happened to be good at his promotion job and therefore excused for being contemporary of Leo Sawyer or something and demanding coffee by calling it rock ‘n’ roll juice. There was also some 80’s popstar who used to bring in his own herbal teabags (hello Roland). If only I had spotted this as a trend I’d now be the owner of Fresh and Wild but at 22 I just thought he was weird. A good chat ensues with Eugene who still looks very dapper at nearly 60 I think, wearing a Belstaff jacket. After he recommends we shop for bread at some incredible bakery we don’t know and he leaves, I tell the boyf that Euge looks so good partly because he always had a younger girlfriend and no kids I don’t think. What I learn from this me encounter has not yet filtered though it did remind me that the first time I was made redundant, for stupid reasons, the person I had entrusted with defending me, ie him, didn’t stand by me and if 25 years later I can still think that Pisceans are traitors, well, it’s his fault.
Later in the week am sat in an Italian restaurant at 5pm on a Saturday having a bite to eat, whilst reading the paper, whilst waiting for a friend to finish his class at Triyoga. I hear the voice before I look up and there is a nice ex, lover, not boyf, who is collecting a takeaway pizza. So he still lives in O… Rd. So he’s still smoking. The pizza at 5pm is a giveaway and possibly he’s still single as if he had a girlfriend, he’d be dining later with her as it’s Saturday night. Not sure if you agree with my Sherlock logic but I do. And btw his name had come up on holiday as he dated a the most boring singer ever, four letters, begins with D. and our friend A. also in Kovalam at same time (forgot to say two couples of friends were coincidentally on holiday in our spot) had turned down said singer's advances. I surprised Toph by saying I fancied said singer's brother. So I have the choice of calling out his name and chatting, but I remember that less than 2 years ago I finally deleted his number in order to avoid the occasional call (usually when I read something about him or something about someone he works with) because the call would invariably lead to making plans to meet and then we’d always not bother. So I stare down into my paper and if he saw me, he thought the same and didn’t cheerfully say hello. Shame, in a sense as was looking particularly dishy. Me, not him.
The following day, Sunday, I go to the cinema with a friend and she introduces me to a colleague who’s just come back from Kerala (exactly same dates as me) and who’s waxing lyrical about the time she spent in some eco resort cum orphanage, not my orphanage but still, spooky. And she works with people I know etc. No lessons are gleamed from this except to remind me to get in touch with two of her colleagues about some work I could advance their way. Plus she’s very tall and good looking and has a slightly northern footballer’s wife hairstyle so I could pally up and overcome my snobbish attitude vis a’ vis good looking women who probably got through to the interviews because of their looks. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know it’s helped me too in the past.
Later on same day am driving towards home and see a friend on the street who doesn’t belong to the neighbourhood. But not easy to stop, so I don’t. Lesson? Not sure and not as important as the one learnt a mere 1 hour early. Do not for a second think you can go to the last day of David Hockney exhibition at the National without having booked it a month ago. It's sold out of course, you silly, relaxed and chilled idiot.
On the Monday, today, a friend emails to say that an old flame of mine (a very long association, called relationship only for the first few heady weeks till I was disabused of the notion that I may be his only flame) is due to meet with her boss at 5pm. At 5pm she kindly proceeds to type in emails to me what she can overhear of their conversation. Very funny as in order to listen she has to stop typing and in order to type she can’t listen. Turns out he calls himself a director these days. Of what? Instant googling doesn’t tell me but he has a Wikipedia entry. Shock horror. I don’t have one. Can someone pls start a Lisa Taylor entry? I instantly take umbrage to some facts and enter the ‘editing’ section, coolly considering what to write. But the message warns me that I will have to sign in with own name and it will be clear who’s edited. I will consider further if it’s worth actually not being anonymous and still writing my corrections. Along the lines of ‘surely he’s still a selfish cunt?’. But shockingly my spy friend is also emailing that him and the wife are fostering a 12 year old white british kid. And this seriously stumps me. This can only have come about as he went so far into recanting his dissolute life that merely going NA and AA was not going to fill up all the hours in the day… That or it’s the wife extraction by way of going on the straight and narrow? I don’t know. The lessons seems to be that I no longer care as am not waiting with bated breath for further instalments on what he said/what he’s been up to and so on.
It goes on. Earlier as I step out of the train at my station, I step right in the arms of a lovely former colleague who’s been decanted at my station by the previous, malfunctioning train. In the 2 mins it takes her to push into the carriage, with much help from my hand on her large ass, we catch up briefly and she says ‘you look great with a tan’. The lesson here is that clearly if you have to run into people, it’s best it happens when you’re looking like you had botox. I kid you not, the frown line is just not there. Maybe that ayurvedic stuff works after all.
Only 9 days to go to the end of the month. Tonight am going to bed deliberately thinking of someone I’ll hope to see and will let you know if anyone materialises. I just hope I don’t run him over.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 2:23 AM
1 Comments:
At 9:02 PM,
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