Friday, 2 October 2009

Ones that must be paid, ones that probably should be paid and ones that go under 'awww, well, fukkid, it was fun while it lasted....'

Never had so many 'final notice' bills arrive before. All that red ink! MUCH more stylish than the normal black-on-white ones..
        Anyhoo. Spoke with my gran's shrink today. Was surprised - he wasn't someone I could yell at at all, he was a calm old man with 4o years of experience in managing a mental asylum. That does get you prepared. Ultimately we spent 2o minutes supporting each-other in our mutual fear of gran. He tells her what she wants to hear so she doesn't bring down the house and I, well, I do what I can under some very tempestruous circumstances. She continues to sue mum for theft of money that wasn't money but was royalties and has no proof any transation actually took place, not to mention mum says the money was used to purchase this flat. Lack of any hard evidence is why she is upset with me for not believing her and taking her side. I am Switzerland. And she's Queen Victoria reincarnated. Every sane worker in the retirement home bows to her. It's how I ended up in the shrink's office, without formal invite - she just walked in and all anyone could do was to smile and do what she says. When I'm 130, I'd quite love to have that kind of self esteem.

Am over my passion for elder men, though. Can say that for certain now, no matter how wise the candidate may be. Ah, well. Gues I'm old and mature now myself. Not that it was even a daddy issue, more an anti-daddy-issue. Lance Henriksen kind of a thing; since I was 12. (It was either him or the alien and not all my classmates would understand my passion for aliens...) In fact it's been an ongoing argument since yesterday, with two of my friends. An American friend whined most of the night how she likes a guy, but he's hairy and not 'hot'. I yelled at her for the rest of the nocturnal hours' duration, what the f* is she thinking? We're not in the Stone Age anymore, where facial symmetry meant the subject is fertile and thus a desirable mate. Is a hot guy automatically fun? Is a smart guy automatically loving? Is a rich snob faithful and if he is, who's to say that he will be supportive in the stickiest of situations?.. Looks and money and PhD have NOTHING to do with it. Love isn't the thing to generalize.
            'Course... On this particular subject I may not be the one to preach. My former husband was an Orlando Bloom look-alike in this one has the body of Achilles and mind of a samurai, so as 'hot' goes, I've kind of always had it covered.. but that's not the point! There was a time when I'd gravitate exclusively towards the social outcasts, the underdogs, the cripples, the ostracized garden variety, gender optional. The more unpopular the man, the greater his chances with me. For ten years I'd artistically pursue any romance that had anything to do with Mugen.
            But those don't seem to retain their appeal. Sooner or later damaged goods choke on their own issues. I'm too old for 'live fast, die young, leave a majority of internal organs for donations'.  I'd like to spend the next 2o years doing what I like, not patching another's childhood problems. I need a man who has so few  skeletons of his own that he can take half of mine and still has room for an SUV.
            I keep thinking of how Piček handled the freeze box situation. He didn't patronize my worries, he didn't try to share the burden, he didn't make speeches or vague promises - he went out and fixed the problem elegantly, intelligently and quietly. And he made nothing of it. "Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame." Such a freaky friend and vicious foe. The gentle man who never speaks badly of women, a gentleman to the utmost regard and all the while truly a  ranger, a hunter, a peasant, the kind that takes a pitchfork and handles a stable of bulls, and then goes and make me lunch. He talks to my grandma when nobody else wants to, he moves barrels for my dad, he fixes machines, he buys me a smoothie maker for my coffees on birthday. He holds me down when I have a raging fit and he powerlevels me though Warcraft. He checks in on me if I shower too long, calls me every hour from work, twice if he knows I'm in a situation that might make me scream. He doesn't let me out of his sight. He follows me to the ends of the world - literally. And he allows me to pursue a cat, but it has to have wolverine genes, so as to be able to put up a fair fight.
             And he, this man, this Celt warrior, this inventor of diplomacy, this magnificent lover and optimist, wouldn't qualify for a mate because he hasn't got posh curly hair?? What the f** is wrong with women?!