Lady ‘A’ finds herself in what she thought a sought after situation. Two years single and ready for a relationship, she wakes one day and finds she has two women in her life. These two women are polar opposites in attitude, looks and lifestyle, but she feels a strong connection to them both. To stay true to female physics, of course within days the situation was getting complicated. So, before she finds herself bed-hopping and calling everyone babe to prevent embarrassing hole digging moments, Lady ‘A’ knows she has to act with integrity and make a decision.
On the one hand there is Lady ‘B’ who is essentially sorted in life; she has issues but ultimately is independent with a strong sense of identity and does not need or want to be rescued by anyone. On the other hand we have Lady ‘C’ who has many fantastic qualities but Kings Cross left luggage is sparse in comparison to the amount of baggage she carries. So who does she choose? Does she choose to rescue and be needed or does she try her luck with independent Lady 'B'? To prevent any confusion she chose Lady ‘C’ leaving ‘B’ bemused, empty-bedded and questioning why this experience feels a little too familiar.
From cave times we have been predisposed for women to be primary care givers and men primary providers. So what happens when the hunter is taken out the equation and you put two care givers together in a relationship? Can two independent strong women, keep their identity and cohabit side by side without driving each other insane before ultimately having a messy break-up around the ‘three year itch’ mark. Or will one naturally, over time, fall into the role of provider whilst the other becomes the carer? Either way when it comes to women you can guarantee all hell will break loose! My god I almost sound bitter! *deep breath and continue in a positive manner*
Why when feeling strong and self-assured would women be attracted to those emotionally challenged? Or are things never quite what they seem and do some women subconsciously search for baggage carriers so they can be distracted from dealing with their own issues? When do we learn we can not rescue others and how do you walk away when waking to find yourself laying next to a screw loose, high maintenance; let’s go on holiday to ‘Lesbo Lalaland’ fruit cake? Good god, I really am having a bitter day! If you consider yourself similar to Lady ‘B’ (as I do), is it ok to admit to feeling vulnerable, in need of some care and not always sorted? After a certain amount of head scratching, confusion and even more bitterness, I was made to look within.
Twenty years ago I lost a lot of family, no not in a park, but through illness. I remember loving my Grandma so much that when she got cancer my tree-climbing, den-building, sea-swimming, tennis-playing; innocent eleven year old world fell apart. Nights alone spent questioning why she was giving in and not fighting this horrible disease or why she was not important enough for divine intervention. Twelve months later and following an admirable heavyweight fight on her behalf, she passed away but this was just the start. For the next few years death sat outside our house eating hob-nobs and playing chess, as he claimed family members one by one. Three years later, a much depreciated family and shares in the local crematorium, my barriers were up and no one was going to cause me that much pain again by leaving!
This was the start of the 'I'm fine era’! Ask any one of my ex's how I am and the response would be 'she's fine'. What they actually meant was 'I'm f**ked if I know, she won't open up to me'. At the beginning of every relationship I am probably a dream girlfriend but as my feelings intensify and I begin to feel vulnerable, guess what? The shutters come down, padlock firmly locked in place and I close up. Until recently I honestly had no idea how much I pushed partners away, frightened at the thought of losing someone close. I am unsure how to move forward, but don’t worry… 'I'm fine'!!!
There is probably a bit of ourselves in all three ladies so my advice is; Lady ‘A’ stand still for a few moments and stop always running to help others first - look after yourself for once. Lady ‘B’ it’s ok to be vulnerable and allow yourself to be rescued sometimes. Lady ‘C’ enlist the services of a professional to help carry some of your baggage, it really does help! Finally for those on the train to Lesbo Lalaland enjoy the ride but for the love of god please get a return fare!
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Green Room
At the start of the week, work colleagues, friends and family looked on in amazement as a crazy woman manically flitted from one distraction to the next. My mood fluctuated and ranged from hysterical laughter to sobbing with temporary periods of calm. To compensate for my polar behaviour I acted impulsively and brought a laptop I can not afford nor have the technical expertise and patience to actually use. I chatted on line, engaged in some harmless flirting, acted irrationally and through it all I felt overloaded, out of control and exhausted.
Waiting in anticipation of therapy to discuss these unfamiliar anxious emotions something happened that stopped me going. Following a long, tedious meeting I arrived back at my desk to my phone and mobile flashing with missed calls, messages, emails headed ‘CALL ME’ and scribbled post-it’s from the PA saying ‘call house mate now’. So I thought I should! I am quickly instructed that I have thirty minutes to get home, change and head to the O2 Arena as we were going backstage to meet the Spice Girls. The next thirty minutes are a blur; I remember a lot of running, hair straightening and frantic ironing all accompanied by their greatest hits blaring from the stereo. I met the deadline and soon after we were sitting on the train slightly dishevelled, flustered but very, very excited.
Some background may help at this point. No we were not ‘Radio 1’ or ‘Take A Break’ competition winners; my housemate met Melanie Brown several years ago and they have been friends ever since. Throughout the journey I am given strict instructions to not show him up, be cool but not cocky and for the love of god please don’t dribble. I promise I can adhere to the rules and when met by an artist liaison, given our passes and escorted backstage by security in a very Posh and Beck-esque way, I did not throw up, which I consider cool behaviour!
Following various check points we were escorted into a small intimate Green Room, shown the bar and left to our own devices. Six maybe seven other people mingled about, some sitting on black velvet sofa’s talking quietly. Music played softly and combined with the sultry mood lighting an amphetamine addict would be left feeling drowsy. Security entered and politely asks us to follow him into Mel B’s dressing room. Practising being cool (but not cocky) I decided against the ‘hey Mel, whassup’ approach and instead just said hi and we began chatting. I had to stop myself divulging I bought the movie, had the posters, own the CD’s and a Spice lunch box! I did admit I had already seen the show and asked if there was room for one more in the band. I do not think she took my request seriously.
Heading back to the Green Room we briefly stopped to say hi to Brooklyn and Romeo who asked if they could spray my hair red? Before I could answer Mel intervened and said they had to check with their Mum before spraying strangers red. Back in the Green Room we drank beer, talked, tried desperately to stay awake and I only momentarily stuttered when Geri walked in. On realising the time, Mel left to get changed and we were left bemused and ever so slightly confused as to the surreal ness of the situation. Feeling juvenile and worried no-one would believe me I thought it was best to steal mementos. I filled my bag with flowers, a notepad and would have left with the sequined cushions under my top if not hand slapped by the housemate.
Security once again came in and asked us to follow. This time we were directed to enter a small room occupied by about ten busy looking people, a photographer and the Spice Girls. Sod being cool, my jaw dropped, I dribbled and pulled at my housemates sleeve just to make sure he was there. Mel shouted over for us to join the photo shoot and meet the girls. I enthusiastically pushed past the photographer to find myself wedged between Emma and Geri who could almost make Kylie look tall. Photo’s were taken and being A-list celebrities they know how to pose, whilst I looked like an uncomfortable, giant Sasquatch Spice... great! Saying our goodbyes we left for the Arena and of course the show was great, but I won’t bore you with that again. Four hours later, back at the flat and sitting on a brown leather sofa we wondered if it actually happened.
Twelve months ago I was in a very different Green Room. It was so exclusive only two were allowed to enter and the doorman turned everyone away. Of course it could not survive and eventually shut down to be opened six months ago under new management. It has taken a while to rebuild its reputation but now the green room is full, lively and a nice place to visit. Friends, old and new mingle in light, airy, comfortable surroundings. There is no dress code, guest list or house rules just a friendly doorwoman and a cloakroom attendant. At the weekends Clyde and Keith from Accounts sing cabaret and Britney melodies and housemate has the fortunate task of cleaning. There is only one problem, my Green Room is running at full capacity and getting a little overcrowded.
This week I have taken control of the door, am having fun and realised I am not ready to let anyone else in yet. However, I am currently undergoing refurbishment and thinking of building an extension – after I’ve paid for the laptop! If anyone can be bothered to wait they can chat, maybe a flirt with the doorwoman and at some point space will be made to let more in. What’s occupying your Green Room? Do you need to take control of the door, refurbish and kick out some irritating groupies? If you have a nice space, relaxed and working successfully then maybe take a look at the queue outside. Before letting them in; how about giving a quick frisk, ID check and please make sure they treat your Green Room with respect and don’t pinch the sequined cushions!
Waiting in anticipation of therapy to discuss these unfamiliar anxious emotions something happened that stopped me going. Following a long, tedious meeting I arrived back at my desk to my phone and mobile flashing with missed calls, messages, emails headed ‘CALL ME’ and scribbled post-it’s from the PA saying ‘call house mate now’. So I thought I should! I am quickly instructed that I have thirty minutes to get home, change and head to the O2 Arena as we were going backstage to meet the Spice Girls. The next thirty minutes are a blur; I remember a lot of running, hair straightening and frantic ironing all accompanied by their greatest hits blaring from the stereo. I met the deadline and soon after we were sitting on the train slightly dishevelled, flustered but very, very excited.
Some background may help at this point. No we were not ‘Radio 1’ or ‘Take A Break’ competition winners; my housemate met Melanie Brown several years ago and they have been friends ever since. Throughout the journey I am given strict instructions to not show him up, be cool but not cocky and for the love of god please don’t dribble. I promise I can adhere to the rules and when met by an artist liaison, given our passes and escorted backstage by security in a very Posh and Beck-esque way, I did not throw up, which I consider cool behaviour!
Following various check points we were escorted into a small intimate Green Room, shown the bar and left to our own devices. Six maybe seven other people mingled about, some sitting on black velvet sofa’s talking quietly. Music played softly and combined with the sultry mood lighting an amphetamine addict would be left feeling drowsy. Security entered and politely asks us to follow him into Mel B’s dressing room. Practising being cool (but not cocky) I decided against the ‘hey Mel, whassup’ approach and instead just said hi and we began chatting. I had to stop myself divulging I bought the movie, had the posters, own the CD’s and a Spice lunch box! I did admit I had already seen the show and asked if there was room for one more in the band. I do not think she took my request seriously.
Heading back to the Green Room we briefly stopped to say hi to Brooklyn and Romeo who asked if they could spray my hair red? Before I could answer Mel intervened and said they had to check with their Mum before spraying strangers red. Back in the Green Room we drank beer, talked, tried desperately to stay awake and I only momentarily stuttered when Geri walked in. On realising the time, Mel left to get changed and we were left bemused and ever so slightly confused as to the surreal ness of the situation. Feeling juvenile and worried no-one would believe me I thought it was best to steal mementos. I filled my bag with flowers, a notepad and would have left with the sequined cushions under my top if not hand slapped by the housemate.
Security once again came in and asked us to follow. This time we were directed to enter a small room occupied by about ten busy looking people, a photographer and the Spice Girls. Sod being cool, my jaw dropped, I dribbled and pulled at my housemates sleeve just to make sure he was there. Mel shouted over for us to join the photo shoot and meet the girls. I enthusiastically pushed past the photographer to find myself wedged between Emma and Geri who could almost make Kylie look tall. Photo’s were taken and being A-list celebrities they know how to pose, whilst I looked like an uncomfortable, giant Sasquatch Spice... great! Saying our goodbyes we left for the Arena and of course the show was great, but I won’t bore you with that again. Four hours later, back at the flat and sitting on a brown leather sofa we wondered if it actually happened.
Twelve months ago I was in a very different Green Room. It was so exclusive only two were allowed to enter and the doorman turned everyone away. Of course it could not survive and eventually shut down to be opened six months ago under new management. It has taken a while to rebuild its reputation but now the green room is full, lively and a nice place to visit. Friends, old and new mingle in light, airy, comfortable surroundings. There is no dress code, guest list or house rules just a friendly doorwoman and a cloakroom attendant. At the weekends Clyde and Keith from Accounts sing cabaret and Britney melodies and housemate has the fortunate task of cleaning. There is only one problem, my Green Room is running at full capacity and getting a little overcrowded.
This week I have taken control of the door, am having fun and realised I am not ready to let anyone else in yet. However, I am currently undergoing refurbishment and thinking of building an extension – after I’ve paid for the laptop! If anyone can be bothered to wait they can chat, maybe a flirt with the doorwoman and at some point space will be made to let more in. What’s occupying your Green Room? Do you need to take control of the door, refurbish and kick out some irritating groupies? If you have a nice space, relaxed and working successfully then maybe take a look at the queue outside. Before letting them in; how about giving a quick frisk, ID check and please make sure they treat your Green Room with respect and don’t pinch the sequined cushions!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Too much excitement!
This week is my week. Within the next few days something is going to happen that will change my life. I can feel electricity flowing through my veins and my eyes have finally been opened to the wonders of the world. I can barely sleep, concentrate and working is pointless. I am too excited for words. Colleagues stare on in astonishment as I hyperactively flit around the office desperately searching for someone to share my enthusiasm with.
The past few years have been interesting to say the least. I have travelled the world, hitchhiked through countries, swam with sharks and nearly been eaten by a rather large crocodile. I have made amazing friends, have loved and lost and can say I have few regrets. But this week is what I have been waiting for; tomorrow I become the proud parent of an Apple Mac laptop!
Please someone help me, I need a life!
The past few years have been interesting to say the least. I have travelled the world, hitchhiked through countries, swam with sharks and nearly been eaten by a rather large crocodile. I have made amazing friends, have loved and lost and can say I have few regrets. But this week is what I have been waiting for; tomorrow I become the proud parent of an Apple Mac laptop!
Please someone help me, I need a life!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Underground
Once a week I take an hour long journey across London. The underground in rush hour is always a pleasure and the chance of getting a seat is slim, but us commuters know how to travel. Rain or shine, a bottle of water, ipod and the London Lite is crucial to block out the noise and the stupid sods who leave it until last minute to irritatingly dash through a wall of people squealing ‘Getting off, getting off’. After a couple of changes I glance around, panic as have arrived at my destination, then frantically barge through a wall of people shouting ‘Getting off, getting off!’ Finally out of the station I walk on auto pilot to my final destination, press the buzzer, wait then enter the busy therapy centre.
The waiting room is in itself an experience to savour. It’s small, comfortable and full mainly of women! Most of whom appear to have a large neon sign above their heads flickering the words ‘I’m Gay’. Women, hey! No one makes eye contact and it is amazing how interesting the latest copy of Marie Clare can be during these uncomfortable moments. Next week I may arrive equipped with rainbow flag, ‘my girlfriend thinks I am a lesbian’ t-shirt and dating cv to hand out. At least we know we have something in common.
One by one we are picked off by the various therapists who catch your eye at the door, smile and turn as you follow silently to the pre-booked room. Let’s remember I am not clinically insane, I have not joined Prozac nation and I never have suicidal thoughts. I am just your average woman who has made some mistakes and wants to understand why, in an attempt to not make them again. I think some friends picture me laying on a chaise lounge surrounded by flock wallpaper, oak furniture and psychiatry books. Unravelling my childhood as I stare dreamily at the ceiling, wallowing in self pity with a box of tissues at hand; whilst the therapist closes her eyes and mutters um’s and arhs at appropriate moments.
Now for the reality; I spend an hour sitting on a plastic chair in a cream painted, slightly tatty, basement room with a travelling clock placed on a small IKEA table between me and the therapist. The only similarity is the box of tissues. You know what we talk about, I write about it most weeks but of course some conversations will never be shared! I know very little about my therapist nor do I want to. She is in her mid thirties, has a cat – no not gay- and I am sure she is married but I always forget to look at her wedding finger.
There is something fundamentality safe about having a space to be truly open in. We can have a laugh, I can cry – it would be odd if she did – and she is the one person I can be completely honest with. I pay for her expertise to help discover more about myself, life and human nature. There is no room for lies in this small basement and each time I leave I feel softened, mellowed and I have a little more knowledge. To some this is navel gazing, to me it’s liberating, fascinating and trying to not sound dramatic; life changing. I would certainly recommend it. This week as I barged off the tube I received a call to say I was not going to be an Aunt again and for the very first time I have nothing left to say.
The waiting room is in itself an experience to savour. It’s small, comfortable and full mainly of women! Most of whom appear to have a large neon sign above their heads flickering the words ‘I’m Gay’. Women, hey! No one makes eye contact and it is amazing how interesting the latest copy of Marie Clare can be during these uncomfortable moments. Next week I may arrive equipped with rainbow flag, ‘my girlfriend thinks I am a lesbian’ t-shirt and dating cv to hand out. At least we know we have something in common.
One by one we are picked off by the various therapists who catch your eye at the door, smile and turn as you follow silently to the pre-booked room. Let’s remember I am not clinically insane, I have not joined Prozac nation and I never have suicidal thoughts. I am just your average woman who has made some mistakes and wants to understand why, in an attempt to not make them again. I think some friends picture me laying on a chaise lounge surrounded by flock wallpaper, oak furniture and psychiatry books. Unravelling my childhood as I stare dreamily at the ceiling, wallowing in self pity with a box of tissues at hand; whilst the therapist closes her eyes and mutters um’s and arhs at appropriate moments.
Now for the reality; I spend an hour sitting on a plastic chair in a cream painted, slightly tatty, basement room with a travelling clock placed on a small IKEA table between me and the therapist. The only similarity is the box of tissues. You know what we talk about, I write about it most weeks but of course some conversations will never be shared! I know very little about my therapist nor do I want to. She is in her mid thirties, has a cat – no not gay- and I am sure she is married but I always forget to look at her wedding finger.
There is something fundamentality safe about having a space to be truly open in. We can have a laugh, I can cry – it would be odd if she did – and she is the one person I can be completely honest with. I pay for her expertise to help discover more about myself, life and human nature. There is no room for lies in this small basement and each time I leave I feel softened, mellowed and I have a little more knowledge. To some this is navel gazing, to me it’s liberating, fascinating and trying to not sound dramatic; life changing. I would certainly recommend it. This week as I barged off the tube I received a call to say I was not going to be an Aunt again and for the very first time I have nothing left to say.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Year of the Rat
There is something reassuring about even numbers! Three’s a crowd, one can be lonely and you should never watch Party of Five – it is too depressing for words! I have a friend, who has to have the television or stereo volume on an even number; I am not obsessively compulsive like her but I am excited about 2008 because 2007 can only be described as odd! There is no point dwelling on the past and last year was not that bad. I have learnt a lot about myself, life and matters of a less serious nature but now it is time to look ahead as we enter the Chinese year of the Rat!
I could think of more pleasant creatures; however, from legend the ‘Rat Year’ is a time of hard work, activity, and making a fresh start. I could have a thousand resolutions but know they will fall by the wayside so I will stick to one and that’s simple; I will do heart racing, muscle aching, fat burning exercise at least twice a week. Smoking, drinking and eating fried food will hopefully be reduced due to the amount of required exercise. I am optimistically looking forward with a clean slate, a slightly matured attitude and although the future is unknown I am keen to see what it brings.
And what better way to start this fruitful new year than coughing, sneezing, migraines, blocked sinuses and a good dose of the flu. Yep, that’s my last seven days and I am not on the road to recovery yet. Sleep deprivation is sending me a little insane. Laying awake hour after hour, sweating out half my body weight – see there’s a positive in everything – and waiting for morning television to begin so I can experience the new year via Fiona Phillips and Eamonn Holmes. I am so used to wheezing I am beginning to believe breathing is overrated and if I am really lucky I may catch the Norovirus and start vomiting, resulting in a little more weight loss. Small violins weakly play ‘Greensleeves’ wherever I go in this sorrowful, self pitying time… sniff!
House bound and stir crazy the internet has become my friend and I may as well take full advantage during this forced work sabbatical. With the Christmas aisles emptied and the Valentines merchandise filling the shelves, in true rat legend my thoughts are turning to a fresh start. I am ready to get back on the bike and have some female fun. It is time to start dating!
Where better to begin but with the plethora of online lesbian dating sites. Profile pre-written as I may panic under pressure; I have established I am a sociable girl-next-door of average weight, tallish, movie loving, theatre going, tennis playing, outdoorsy, drink occasionally -forward slash- socially and am kicking the smoking habit! I look like Sharon Stone’s younger sister and have a GSOH – good sense of humour- for the acronymally challenged like me.
I am all set. Photo is ready to upload and I have a carefully scripted 250 word bumph about myself including a description of my ideal women, who requires more than just a pulse… honest! Then my works laptop decides it is only to be used researching business related subjects and the firewall will not allow me access to any site with the tags; dating, gay or dar. Bizarrely I can subscribe to Extra Marital which has the subheading ‘Want Discreet Extramarital Affair? Register Free & Meet Someone New’. I was bored, curious and of course I did not register! So ultimately, I have no potential dates or even an opportunity for online flirting; just me, a runny nose and now a full symphony orchestra belting out ‘Only the Lonely’.
Before I can even approach women I need to get out of this flat and go to the internet café or buy my own laptop. At least by stepping outdoors I can get dressed in my now baggy sales wardrobe (still sweating!) and potentially meet a nice lady for some harmless flirting. If at a later stage, dating can be combined with some heart racing, muscle aching exercise then bonus! In the meantime I may need to wait for my eyes to stop streaming, get some colour back in my cheeks and shut this bloody orchestra up otherwise I will not be attractive to anyone!
I could think of more pleasant creatures; however, from legend the ‘Rat Year’ is a time of hard work, activity, and making a fresh start. I could have a thousand resolutions but know they will fall by the wayside so I will stick to one and that’s simple; I will do heart racing, muscle aching, fat burning exercise at least twice a week. Smoking, drinking and eating fried food will hopefully be reduced due to the amount of required exercise. I am optimistically looking forward with a clean slate, a slightly matured attitude and although the future is unknown I am keen to see what it brings.
And what better way to start this fruitful new year than coughing, sneezing, migraines, blocked sinuses and a good dose of the flu. Yep, that’s my last seven days and I am not on the road to recovery yet. Sleep deprivation is sending me a little insane. Laying awake hour after hour, sweating out half my body weight – see there’s a positive in everything – and waiting for morning television to begin so I can experience the new year via Fiona Phillips and Eamonn Holmes. I am so used to wheezing I am beginning to believe breathing is overrated and if I am really lucky I may catch the Norovirus and start vomiting, resulting in a little more weight loss. Small violins weakly play ‘Greensleeves’ wherever I go in this sorrowful, self pitying time… sniff!
House bound and stir crazy the internet has become my friend and I may as well take full advantage during this forced work sabbatical. With the Christmas aisles emptied and the Valentines merchandise filling the shelves, in true rat legend my thoughts are turning to a fresh start. I am ready to get back on the bike and have some female fun. It is time to start dating!
Where better to begin but with the plethora of online lesbian dating sites. Profile pre-written as I may panic under pressure; I have established I am a sociable girl-next-door of average weight, tallish, movie loving, theatre going, tennis playing, outdoorsy, drink occasionally -forward slash- socially and am kicking the smoking habit! I look like Sharon Stone’s younger sister and have a GSOH – good sense of humour- for the acronymally challenged like me.
I am all set. Photo is ready to upload and I have a carefully scripted 250 word bumph about myself including a description of my ideal women, who requires more than just a pulse… honest! Then my works laptop decides it is only to be used researching business related subjects and the firewall will not allow me access to any site with the tags; dating, gay or dar. Bizarrely I can subscribe to Extra Marital which has the subheading ‘Want Discreet Extramarital Affair? Register Free & Meet Someone New’. I was bored, curious and of course I did not register! So ultimately, I have no potential dates or even an opportunity for online flirting; just me, a runny nose and now a full symphony orchestra belting out ‘Only the Lonely’.
Before I can even approach women I need to get out of this flat and go to the internet café or buy my own laptop. At least by stepping outdoors I can get dressed in my now baggy sales wardrobe (still sweating!) and potentially meet a nice lady for some harmless flirting. If at a later stage, dating can be combined with some heart racing, muscle aching exercise then bonus! In the meantime I may need to wait for my eyes to stop streaming, get some colour back in my cheeks and shut this bloody orchestra up otherwise I will not be attractive to anyone!
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