Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Lingerie and lipstick. My first big Valentines day.

Since Valentines day is coming up this week, I think it's only fair to write about things that have to do with love.  Or at at the very least, lust.

Leading up to February 14th,  We find ourselves completely bombarded with images of red, and pink, candy hearts and teddy bears singing "I Luv youuuuu." It's a combination of love and sweetness that reminds me of the time I ate a whole bag of chocolate-covered mangosteen, and proceeded to vomit everywhere. Sure, it's sugary and delicious going down but if you consume too much of it, you may need to throw-up.

Whether you are happily paired up this February 14th or happily/unhappily single, I thought this would be a prime opportunity to treat you to a Valentine's day story of mine.

Flashback to a few years ago when I had my first big valentines with my (then) special someone. I was living on my own for the first time in my life with two of my best friends, and high-fiving myself for being so skilled at this whole "adult thing." And because it was my first adult Valentines day, I didn't know what to expect. Up until this point in my life, February 14th usually consisted of me, hanging out with my friends, and then receiving candy and a card from my parents. Or maybe getting a valentine from someone, and then trying to hide from them for the rest of the day.Yup, I had some major sexual prowess during this time in my life.

 While hanging out with my friends, discussing my new grown-up relationship, I was surprised by the expectations from the "day of love." I was quickly informed by my besties that I should be preparing for the big day because no doubt my man was planning something special for me. Um obviously I have a plan. We're going to binge eat candy hearts and watch a romcom together...Like I do every year. No, apparently that was not a "good" plan.

*Do you ever notice ladies (and maybe gentleman) that you always have that one friend who seems to know what you're supposed to do in any given social setting. Or more specifically, any given relationship situation? As if they somehow got the relationship memo and made you question all those years of hanging out on your own reading. Perhaps reading Harry Potter again and again was irreversibly damaging to my romantic life. No! HARRY POTTER IS NEVER THE WRONG CHOICE.

My friend told me that Valentines day was a "holiday" where expectations were high and since I'd probably get roses and chocolate (YES!!!!) I'd be expected to do something nice for my man. Um...Chocolate hockey pucks?

Lingerie, friends. She meant Lingerie. SIGH...

Let's just say, that at this time in my life, I wasn't quite comfortable in a bathing suit or say, shirts without sleeves. The thought of lacy fabric that's only purpose was to show off my body was terrifying. After this insightful (horrifying) conversation, I couldn't sleep. I was plagued by anxiety at this unfortunate turn of events. I remember cursing myself for not reading enough cosmopolitan magazines in high school. If I had done my proper prep work, I'm sure I wouldn't have been blindsided by my fancy undergarment deficit. It was decided. The situation must be rectified and so the next day, thanks to the urgings of my two friends, we drove to Vaughan Mills mall to purchase some lingerie.

When we walked in to "La vie en rose"( the epitome of sophistication), I found myself surrounded by lace, mesh, nylon, and leather in various shades of red, pink, and black. I started to hyperventilate. Where? Why? How do you chose? What was a girl to do?

Everything looked like it would give me a rash. As someone with super sensitive skin, this was my absolute nightmare.  I plucked up my courage, and started picking out prints and styles off the rack.  When the sales woman came over a few minutes later to ask me how I was doing, I looked her in the eye and said, "I'd like to try some of this on please." And so it began.

The first item, a leopard print one piece, made me feel like I was in a 80's porno, which depending on your state of mind, isn't such a bad thing. I put it in the "maybe" pile. The second was a black item that I don't care to describe in my blog post. I'm not that brave. You can imagine I put it in the "No" pile. I kept going from there. Yes, no, no...Maybe.Trying everything form push-up bras to horrible underwear which squeezed in places that, in my opinion, should not be squeezed. Finally, I found it. Something that covered me enough that I felt good and yet was still sexy enough that I knew I was going to win at Valentines day.

Wait...What? Valentines day is not a competition? Yeah, "OKAY."

I left "La vie on rose" a victor with my marvellous lingerie, feeling pretty saucy holding my tissue paper wrapped underwear. I was a little older, a little wiser and  now had a secret stash of strange undergarments that made me feel like the sexy vixen I knew I was destined to become.

You may wonder, how do I feel about lingerie now? It's beautiful, it's confidence-boosting, and I'm happy to have it kicking around. But honestly folks, I've worn long johns and had the same results. So maybe my younger self knew all along that when someone loves you (or at least wants to see you naked), it doesn't matter if you're in lingerie or your old navy cotton briefs.  Or maybe, my romantic partners have lowered their expectations. To which I'll say "good." Either way, this Valentines day, I hope you feel sexy and fabulous in or out of your sexy undergarments. Yeah, I said it.


Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Daydreams not nightmares.

It started like this:

 Cold beer and warm nights. A fumbling of finger tips and stolen glances. Beginnings and endings.The middle is the different bit. The details. When. When gets caught in the stickiness of my fly paper memory. Where did I leave it? It's disappeared.

I've forgotten how I got here.

Strung out, late nights, curves and cool sheets, never covering up enough skin.

Slowed down versions of our favourite song. On repeat. Until it sours. I detest the idea of unwanted things.

Stillness feels nauseating so I keep moving. I run. Fast. Exhaustion tastes sweeter than well-intentioned sleep. Better to rest in daylight.  What am I running from?

And then I remember that this is all just a dream.

My scattered poetic thoughts mixed up with REM sleep and too few blankets.

A faded memory of a life I used to life. And I'm glad when I wake-up to a calm morning. The sunlight, the newness, the freshness.

I don't have patience for uninterrupted doubt.

I don't live in my nightmares anymore.  Emptiness is not a space I like to occupy. The novelty wore off. I pull off the covers and taste today.

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