i've got a feeling...

That I will find myself increasingly frustrated with a lot of things up until I leave. Not intentionally, but because my brain seems to enjoy playing the overanalyzing game a lot at the moment. 

I feel like, with all the stuff that goes on between Muffin and me… all the conversations, photos (the few exchanges that do take place) and videos (the even FEWER exchanges that take place), our relationship is rock-solid. I feel like… hrm. Well, maybe not “rock,” unless there’s some sort of rock that LOOKS super-strong, but is really quite mooshy and crumbly on the outside with a really, REALLY tough centre. That’s what I see our relationship as…. Is there a rock like that? I reckon there’s got to be somewhere. 

That’s what I feel about our relationship…  like we are BLOODY solid at the core; we are strong in our convictions, support and respect for one another. Our history is beautiful and has built us up as a couple that can withstand most anything because of what we have seen and endured both together and individually. 

But when you travel out, there’s a layer that makes-up about 1/28^th of the rock that is a little out of control and that you just can’t maintain, no matter how hard you try… bits keep falling off. Like if you were to take a bowling ball, cover it in maple syrup and then roll it around in corn flakes then play catch with it. The bits just won’t stay on and things just get messy. 

The main reason this layer is so out of control is because of the distance and time since we’ve seen one another… 

We are currently 3,000 miles away from one another, next week we will be 10,000 miles apart. It is a horrific distance that is no good when you just want to be near someone. This distance is made all-the-worse because of the fact that we have spent a total of two weeks face-time together in the last eight years. The emotional pulls that take place in a situation like this are huge and painful. Some days I wake up and feel like I am being ripped-apart, like all of my limbs are being pulled-off one-by-one. I hate this distance and I hate the fact that the world is so stupid and large and I can’t just take a quick walk to wherever he is at any given moment. I just want to be able to smell him again. I want to smell him and show him I love him. 

The time for words has now expired and they seem to have become mechanical and monotonous for me. 

There are only so many times you can SAY that you love someone before you aren’t as affected by the novelty of it anymore. In the beginning, when he first told me he loved me again I would become giddy and out of control with fits of glee, but now, all those words seem to bring (and I’m not complaining about this) is a warm sense of security. Knowing that someone loves me to the ends of the earth and back is nice, but… sigh. Emails, phone calls and videos just aren’t cutting the mustard anymore. I need the real deal and I can feel myself becoming slightly more frail every day, and I presume this pattern will carry on until I get what my mind and body think I need. 

I need human interaction and warmth from Muffin. 

I feel like the words I say to him just don’t do justice to the things that I feel and I hate myself for not being able to spin more magical word-webs. I hate the fact that on the days when words don’t come so easily to me I cannot just go up to him, kiss the left side of his neck and actually make him feel the words form from the movement of my lips as I whisper that I love him into his ear. I want him to become caught-up in an olfactory storm as I come up to him and hold him… smelling my perfume, laundry detergent and lotion. I want every single one of his senses to know I love him, not just his ears and eyes. I want him to taste the words on my lips along with the flavour of the quavers I’ve just eaten. 

The other reason this layer is so crumbly and stressful is because of the reason our core is so strong, our history. 

Dane has broken me so many times in the past… broken me, cheated on me and left me for other females. Every single time I start talking to him again I always proceed with caution and get caught up in a whirlwind of the emotions that initially made me love him and want to spend my life with him all those years ago. This stint, since we’ve started talking again, is the longest we’ve spoken throughout the years. Nine months. Usually, by this time he would have gotten married or had another kid or gone on a shagging spree to rival some high-grade porn star (I’ve not got ANY idea of the names of porn stars… just think of one and compare that person to Muffin when it comes to past promiscuity-levels.). 

This time though, the velocity of everything is so much greater… the words we say, the things we are doing, they are bigger than anything we’ve ever encountered as a couple. We are actually doing this and there is absolutely no turning back… I’ve bought my ticket and I am leaving in just over eight weeks. But in those eight weeks, I worry about how much might change. 

When he and I very first started talking again, when Christopher and I had just split up and were still living together, Dane told me that he was concerned that I might participate in one last ‘moment of intimacy’ with Chris, as a way of ‘sealing the past,’ as it were… he had told me that he had done it with past partners and suggested that he might do it with Karri upon his return to America. 

Obviously, this did NOT happen with Christopher and me. I had no interest whatsoever in participating in any extra-curricular intimate activities with him after the date of severance. 

Since then, Muffin has come leaps and bounds in his divorce; he has announced that he will be divorcing Karri upon his return not only to her, but to his family, he has informed her of my moving-in with him upon my arrival to america and has also started the paperwork process (don’t even ASK about this, as it is a massively sore subject due to Karri’s amazingly great lazy-levels… they supersede MY ex, which is not something to be sniffed at!)… despite all the things he has done and said both to me and Karri and despite the devotion he has pledged and the complete comfort and security he has tried to instil into me, I regularly find myself remembering the moment we had that conversation…. The way my stomach sank at the thought of him going home and sleeping with Karri again, even if just for a final hurrah. 

I have just never known any better from him… he gets frustrated with me when I mention the fact that I am worried he will cheat on me in the seven weeks before I arrive, but I really, honestly feel completely okay with the gingerness I am approaching the relationship with. Everyone keeps saying to me that I’m “THE One” and I should take solace in that fact and trust him, but my logic dictates that I’ve always been his “the one” and that most certainly didn’t stop him from doing all the things he’s done in the past. 

Overall, I DO trust him, I honestly do… I just occasionally get one of these stupid little twinges in my tummy that reminds me what I’ve been through with him over the last nine years and helps me to bear in mind what he is capable of…  the heartache he has the ability to inflict upon me. I mean, if I didn’t prepare myself for this and he did do something, where would my heart be left? It wouldn’t. I would completely fall to pieces. I feel an overall need to protect my heart and make sure that in the unlikely event that something WAS to happen to it, that it receives minimal damage. 

So here I am, fifty-seven days away from america and feeling pensive and tired. I presume a lot of it comes down to the fact that I have been mega-busy and just haven’t had the time to sit down and talk to Muffin much lately. We have both been so, so busy that an even bigger chunk of distance has been placed between us. Gone are the days that we used to sit around on the phone for hours at a time, talking about how much we love one another and all the things we’d do to be together… gone are the web-chats late into the night… the words pinging up through the fibres and cables that make the internet possible. It’s all gone and all I really have is the hope that when I arrive it will be fine. 

I’ve no doubt that the first several weeks will be absolute bliss… existing in the world that we had dreamed about when we were sixteen. The world of adulthood and living together and not having anything try to pry us apart. But once all that special, glittery dust has settled, what will we have? I’d like to hope that we will come through it with a beautiful relationship. That we will settle into a routine that suits both of us and allows us to work off of one another happily and well. Overall, I am certain this is how it will all work out, but I still worry from time-to-time that I will have to catch that return flight home. 

I love him… I love him such a substantial amount and I hate that I am having all these stupid little pangs. They have certainly decreased since booking my ticket, but some are still there and they just hurt. They make me feel guilty for not trusting him… make me feel guilty and stupid. I hate that I feel like I can’t trust my heart or him sometimes. I hate the uncertainty and fear. 

I am trying to just not focus on it…  to not focus on the fact we are apart and the fact that SHE will be the one that is there, waiting for him at the airport when he arrives home from his deployment. That SHE will be the person that gets to help him adjust to being back if he needs it…. I hate it. I hate that she most likely doesn’t see that despite the fact that they are splitting up, she will get to be there for him when he needs someone the most. I hate that she has taken advantage of him for all these years and right now, I am not in a position to do anything about it.

Granted, in fifty-seven days I WILL be doing something about it. 

In fifty-seven days I will be there for him like nobody ever has been. 

I will love him as gently as he needs it and show him that it is possible for someone to be there for him unconditionally and selflessly. 

In fifty-seven days I am going to be everything he ever wanted and I can’t wait.

it's official

So it’s official… as of 0742 Friday morning I have got a ticket back to america.

I officially now have an email in my inbox worth £512.
I find it baffling that I can spend such a vast amount of money and have so very little to show for it. Like, if I had something really substantial like a pony or a dolphin as a result of that transaction, I would feel much more satisfied, but overall, it is a massive anti-climax… I had built-up the tension about booking a ticket, worried myself sleepless most nights thinking about leaving, desperately hoping that the purchase of this ticket would magically make all the little twinges go and quell every little concern I had.
No.
Now I still find myself concerned and still have twinges, but am half-a-grand poorer.
I left workies on Thursday afternoon after having bestowed upon my manager and co-workers the priceless information that I would be purchasing a ticket the following morning and would therefore be handing in my official notice to work upon my return. They all nodded and I nodded in response, blissfully unaware of the fact that not one of them believed that I would actually be purchasing a ticket the following morning…
Thursday night saw me arrive home from workies to an empty house. Due to the heat I immediately stripped-off, drew a megahot bath and relaxed. It was a fabulous bath (one which featured my second-favourite thing about getting a tattoo – the rubbing-off of all the dead skin…. Mmmmmyay!), and then I proceeded to tidy the house and lie on the sofa in a writhey manner whilst watching the news and texting Nick.
The plan for the night had been for me to sit at Bar One drinking my face off for the entirety of the night to quell my rage towards my estranged husband (oh em GEE that will be another blog altogether). I bounced on the sofa as I sent Nick an excited text asking if he still wanted a visitor to which he replied that he was working and if I wanted to come round I could, but that he wasn’t much company. I asked why. His response took ages and in that time I writhed in a sleepy manner with the news telling me about racist attacks, accidental baby deaths and the football. Just at the end of the news Nick replied saying his granddad had died in the morning. I immediately said I would be there as soon as I ate. I threw together a very sorry excuse for a tuna sandwich and tossed on some shoes and was at the pub within twenty minutes.
The remainder of the night circulated around lots of hugs and laughing until we cried as we watched videos of disabled animals, fat children and singing dogs. All this took place with Buddy nestled on my lap, his muzzle against my bosoms and my hand scratching his belly. It is nights like that, nights where I can just sit for hours with Nick next to me, Buddy on my lap and Chris Tree bumbling by every so often giving me faux-dirty looks, that I love purely because it allows me to remember why my life is so special. Why I have every reason in the entire world to feel so pleased for what I have.
I left the pub with just enough time to get home and have a really nice couple of hours with Pow. We talked about Johnny and me moving away and his newly-shaved facial hair before retiring to the sofa to watch a bit of Juno and take some photos of our faces squished together. We practiced our American accents and punched one another until Amy arrived and we all went to sleep.
That night, laid in bed, I almost wept from the realization of how beautiful my life is. I curled up on my right side, snuggled my stuffed penguin tight and felt like my heart was going to swell and burst out of my chest. I have everything I could ever need in life… absolutely everything, and I would be silly to ever think that I needed anything more.
Friday morning I woke up an hour before my alarm was due to go off. I felt tense and sat on my bed for five minutes, bracing myself for the task which had been laid before me.
I meandered down the hall, holding my dog-tags so they did not make so much noise that they woke the sleeping lovers.
I sneaked down the stairs and across the terracotta flooring before flicking the computer on and sitting on the piano bench-cum-computer chair and took a deep breath. Muffin was online, so we talked as I booked my train to London for that afternoon. Train booked, Facebook checked and emails responded to I had no other way to distract myself; I had to book my ticket. I did the search and found my ticket cheaper than it had been three days before. I booked it and felt not nearly as relieved as Muffin seemed to. He was ecstatic.
Again though, let me stress to you the amount of disappointment there is when all I have to show for having spent half-a-grand is an email, and not even a very good one at that. All it bloody said was that I had purchased a ticket… there was no information about luggage allowance, no anti-terrorist propaganda, just the itinerary and a generic disclaimer about what to do if I had received that email in error.
Granted, as a result of that half-a-grand, I will be able to step on a plane in fifty-eight days and that plane will take me to Paris and then, after an hour-and-a-half I will get on ANOTHER plane that will take me straight to Muffin’s arms. Still though, it’d be nice if I had a little more to show for the destruction of my bank account than a poxy little email.
Post-ticket, Muffin had to go work and I had to get ready for my morning-time plans. The plans had been set in place the previous night with a bottle of cider in my hand and a white wine spritzer in Nick’s (no, he isn’t THAT gay, he’s just trying to watch his weight, which, in hindsight, me saying that doesn’t really help with trying to dull down his gayness… “Oh, I’ll have a white wine spritzer, I’m watching my figure!”). Nick had told me, in between videos of narcoleptic dogs and cats with no sense of balance, about his escapades in town earlier in the day and about the fact that he had seen a new shop in the Westfield Centre called “Appy Feet” which Nick described to me as a shop with lots fo tanks where you could pay to have fish suck on your feet. The instant he told me about this I froze…
Right, firstly, who the crap would hear that you could go to a shop and pay a measly ten pounds to get tiny fish to suckle on your feet for fifteen minutes and turn THAT down?!
Secondly, guess which two people had a free couple of hours in the morning the VERY next day?!
I happily embarked on the journey to the pub to pick Nick up and rolled around on the floor with Buddy upon arriving until Lee and Nick were both ready. We left the pub en masse and arrived at the shopping centre for epic foot-sucking action.
So, for anyone who’s never had it done, I’d say do it, because it is totally a fun and weird experience. You dangle your feet, ankle-deep in a big bowl of filtered water with about eighty fish in. they immediately come to your feet and rasp at them until you pull them out. It was a fun little experience and post-getting sucked Nick and I pranced to some shops where he helped me pick out some undergarments and a shirt and then we went to the only coffee shop we deemed acceptable for a fabulous ice cream milk shake and some cupcakes (which I consumed purely for research purposes)
We ate and drank and then felt ill. We bumbled around town for a short while before making our way back to the pub to have a sausage roll and a cuddle with the dog. Lee and I talked about people on benefits and the likelihood of me getting a job in america until Nick came back inside from making a phone call in the garden (in case you were wondering, the call was made to the police an effort to remove the human scum who had congregated across the road from the pub to do a little daytime street-drinking. They were a disgusting, motley crew of pykies with a herd of dogs ready to eat you alive if you decided to challenge them). Nick then drove me back home so I could finish packing in a wild frenzy and drove me to the train station just in time for me to print out my tickets and hop on the 1425 straight to Londontown.
An hour-and-a-half later I was stepping off the train and hurdling as quickly as possible to the waiting arms of my janeyface. We hugged for ages and made our way out of the horror that is London St Pancras International Train Station into the harsh sunlight of the Big Smoke. We immediately decided to go to the nearest pub and began chainsmoking, drinking cider, people-watching and talking about various fabulous topics.
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around in the bright, beautiful sunlight, stopping only to open another bottle of cider or to buy chinese buns and sushi. The afternoon was perfectly blissful and the bulk of our conversations for the afternoon involved how much we love spending time together and how we are one-another’s bffs.
I adore spending time with janey for many reasons, primarily though, I enjoy it because it is a time when I can be completely me without question. I can smoke or not smoke, drink or not drink, curse or not curse, say racist things or not and I will always get as good as I receive. She is an amazing person who, as soon as i first come within an arm’s length of her, makes me feel completely giddy with youthful excitement. It’s as though I immediately turn into a teenager again and we can just be two lewd, crude dudes with no worries at all in the world. I am never scared or questionable about anything when I am with janey. I can say or do anything around her and she won’t bat an eyelash (particularly because those BLOODY eyelashes cost a tenner EACH! **please see photo to your immediate left for explanation**)
She and I seem to think the same thoughts, do the same things and generally be the same person, which I love. We spent the bulk of the weekend talking about various topics surrounding my doubts and concerns with moving to america… things I imagine I will put into a blog when and/or if I find the time.
So… back to the original point, I’ve got a ticket back to America.
I pranced into work yesterday morning with glee all over my face, as if perhaps I had just won a little prize… or a very large prize (but knowing me, a little one would suffice, as I get covered in glee for even the tiniest of things). I beamed as my co-worker’s jaws dropped. It came to light as I was helping with the morning banking that many of the colleagues did not think I was actually going to go. They thought I was going to change my mind at the last minute; that I was going to move house and stay there because I loved it too much. Nobody believed I was going to go…
I’ve since handed in my resignation and I officially finish work at half past four on Monday 23^rd August.
And there we are. I officially leave my favourite place in the entire world in fifty-eight days.
At half past three on the morning of August 26^th I will be drunkenly bundling all m y favourite people into a hired van after a night of celebrating the birth of my Pow and my last night in the country. We will nearly all be in fancy-dress and we will (hopefully) make it to the airport for four in the morning. it will be an emotional affair that will most likely break my heart harder than it was broken when I left america. The people I have bonded with over the last six years have grown to be so special to me and the thought of living without them bloody kills me.
Granted, it is only for thirteen months…  three-hundred and ninety-six days.
Wish me luck.

it's ready!

It is impossible for me to have a weekend with janey that does not bear the fruit of a billion things that I heart for the week. I always come away from our extra-long playdates with my book heaving with train tickets, found-items, photos and scribbled, drunken handwriting. 

This visit is absolutely no different and should hopefully offer you a fun little list to cast your gaze over this week… please enjoy, dudes.

Polish instant soups
When our designated payday falls on a weekend so we get paid early 

Janeyweekends… oh em gee yes! I love weekends when we are due to hang out; when one of us makes that long trek either north or south to see the other. I love the anticipation that builds up through the day… like when I was a kid and I would be excited about the four-hour long drive to my grandparent’s house in Colorado for Christmas… the anticipation to see someone you love just SO MUCH that you can barely hide your glee. THAT is what I have with janey in the days building up to a designated weekend together. The excitement is only made worse by the fact that we text one another constantly. As the day draws nearer we begin texting more often and the texts tend to contain more swear words. We text about all the things we want to do, many of them not actually things we will ever do (ie. Recreate the choreography from a famous Bollywood film at a local metal club), but still fun to muse about. Then one of us arrives at the other’s train station and we hug. Janey hugs make me the happiest because they are so genuine and warm. Once we’ve settled, the chaos ensues and it’s just magical. She’s such an amazing person and I love every single tiny second that I get to spend with her. The greatest moment from entire weekend this time took place at a little pub in Angel. We marched in there on a whim, wanting a cola and some water (yeah, we’re THAT great on a night out, we drink water. Stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it!) and found that it was a soul night made all the more special because it was dedicated to Michael Jackson that night. Upon walking in and perching at the bar we noticed that there were several boys, mostly negros, dancing in small packs throughout the local vicinity. Now, when I say ‘dancing,’ I mean actually DANCING… these boys could bust a move and made janey and I froth like a couple of dogs with rabies. We watched the boys for the bulk of the night and were suitably impressed as we sipped our cola and were photographed by various people, presumably because of our appearances, which was distinctly different to anyone else in the entire place. We danced and enjoyed ourselves for several hours before going home and relaxing in bed for a long night’s slumber.
Tomato soup
Nick Parker
My life… occasionally, I actually have to stop, catch my breath and say, “are you freaking kidding me?!” my life is just THAT incredible. I have literally got everything I could ever even possibly imagine I’d need directly in front of me and I couldn’t be happier. I have all the most amazing friends, fairly good health, a good head on my shoulders, seemingly flawless luck and… well… I mean, my life is everything I ever wanted it to be. I live in England, the boy I fell in love with ten years ago has gotten back in touch with me and we are having a proper go at it, one of my best friends is an incredible musician and artist, I am about to take a one-year holiday to america to travel, work and eat, I get a shit-ton of free or cheap tattoos and I tend to find jobs that embrace the way I live. I have the most perfect life that has been tailored specifically around me and how I want to live. I rarely have to make compromises and often laugh… my life is bliss.
When Dane actually emails me when he says he will
When my expectations aren’t smashed
Drawing things
The blissful chaos in our house… I was concerned about how it would work out. how all of our things would blend together and what the house would look like with the combined forces of his crap AND my crap all under one roof. Needless to say, there WERE some teething issues, we DID make some messes and I’m not gonna lie, there are still corners of the house that look like tiny tornados ripped through them, destroying everything in their tiny little whirlwindy path. It’s not been almost three weeks and our lives have settled into this beautiful little formation that is perfect for us. Our schedules tend to work together well, our stuff has all made bff with one another and I still have my own tiny baking area in the kitchen. I get to wake up every morning, see the skinned clown music box next to the vintage Singer sewing machine and remember that I am living with my best friend and fall madly in love with my life once more.
Morning calls from Janey
Chatting on Skype with people
Picking at my cuticles
Frankfurters… oh my sweet baby jesus in a handbasket! I have fallen in love with frankfurters in a big way. It started when Pow brought some home the other night because I was in a bad mood and he wanted to lift my spirits (and what more could a girl need than smoked hot dogs!?). They started flirting with me even before their packaging had been opened, allowing guffs of their sexy, smoked scent to escape and fly into my nostrils… Pow released them from their plastic traps (which I was imagining, in this foodporn scenario was some sort of food PVC) and poured them into the boiling water. I watched them dance in a saucily seductive way for the next ten minutes as I pulled out the condiments I would slather all over them before making sweet love to them with my mouth. They wriggled and writhed until Pow drained them and tossed them all on a plate… since that first interaction I cannot help but need them in my life as often as possible. Janey fed them to me with boiled rice, a fried egg and soy sauce (a thai breakfast from her childhood) and Pow and I eat them at least twice a week… I am in love with thee oh Frankfurter, please do not forsake me!
Really good cupcake recipe books
Vintage cookbooks
My list book
Date-stamps
Flapjacks
When people praise my blog… it does not happen often, but when it does it makes me a happy little bear!
Jokes that are actually funny
Finding interesting things on the road
Documentaries
The smell of a new car
Rice
Reminders from the night Claire and I got kicked out of three pubs in Derby
Chicken Kievs
Garlic
Facial tattoos
Train journeys
Watching the sun go down
Camera Obscura
People-watching with Janey
British accents
Cyber Candy
Heavy makeup on my eyes
The fact that Nick calls me ‘Bitch Tits’
My rack
Chuck Palahniuk
Photos
Dim Sum 

Franny… oh what a beautiful, tiny little creature. I remember before we started talking more I always used to watch her and be so shocked by what a beautiful creature she was. Her face just lights up in all the right places when she laughs and she has the most fabulous personality ever (and OMG her rack is stupendous!). I love that we have started spending more time talking and hanging out in the last couple of months, and to be honest, I have no idea what my nights out at the pub would be like without her, she makes the nights complete and I can’t thank her enough for that.
Sausage Buns
Ridiculous names for shops
Not being lied to
Muffin emails
When Chris isn’t being a retarded, difficult jerk
Horn sections
People with Down’s Syndrome
Low-cut tops
X-rays
Kimya Dawson
Michael Jackson
Peanuts
Beards
Juno
Muffin’s voice
Steamed spinach dumplings
Dolly Parton
Janey’s mum and dad
Caribbean food… beans, rice and chicken, OH MY! NOM!
Good t-shirts
My jeggings
Retarded dogs
Beautiful lyrics
Spicy fried chicken sushi
Pop art
Jarvis Cocker
Trying to write on trains
How late it stays light out in the summer
Being given good clothes
Air conditioning in the summer
Coloured fags
“Elvis Ain’t Dead” by Scouting for Girls
When songs are able to remind me of a very specific memory/time… like when I hear “Rude Boy” by Rhianna, I am immediately whisked back to the gay club with Nick and Franny, watching Nick do his sassy little dance and making me laugh like I’ve not laughed in years.
Rucksacks
Dancing
Being randomly photographed
Janey’s handwriting
When I’m on a train home and we get to Leicester… exclusively because this is the penultimate stop before  home and who doesn’t love that last home-stretch after a long journey?
Bearded pigs
NOT being sat behind/next to a fucking writhey bastard
The “Cooking With The Stars” videos Pow and I make
Sexual innuendo
Leek and potato soup
Crusty bread rolls
Homemade shortbread biscuits 

Alastair Powers… SUCH a beautiful creature. Our bonding has been increasing in velocity in the last few weeks. We spend more time together and talk much more often. The interactions we have are so much more smooth and perfect than they used to be and I love that about us. When we spend time together everything just immediately falls into place and no matter how often we talk we ALWAYS get mega-excited about telling each other all the tiny things that we might have missed in between. He’s just a special creature and I love spending time with him. I could never thank him enough for the time we spend together. 

9: love my life: for the work i do...

and but oh do I do a lot of work for others! It seems as though I pretty much do nothing but things for other people. 

I’m not complaining here though…  I love the work I do… I love every single little tiny thing I create and every single little smile I generate on another person’s face as a result. 

The obvious things I do are my cupcakes. My cupcakes always make me the happiest because they are something I tend to offer exclusively to other people. When I bake, I tend to bake just for other people and don’t often eat any of the cakes myself.

I bake, lovingly mixing all the ingredients whilst singing along to whatever words I have placed on my megamix for that specific day. 

I decorate, carefully piping, glittering and placing each and every decoration with love and attention.
I watch. 

This is my favourite bit… watching people eat my baked goods. There is very little I love more in the world than to sit smugly as I see all the muscles of the recipient’s face turn into putty and fall in love with me, my cakes and all things sweet. I love that people come and hug me after I’ve baked, I love that I am known, seemingly around the world, as ‘The Cupcake Lady’  or ‘Danie Cupcake.’ I love, love, LOVE my baked goods. 

Alongside my cupcakes are the things I make. The woollen toys, hats, scarves and any other miscellany you can conjure. These things come fewer and further in between but generate the most amount of glee… most of my creations lately have been for Pow, but no mind, as his happy face is one of my favourites. When I present him with a new bizarre toy or idea I see his eyes go bright and the corners of his mouth immediately turn up into a smile not dissimilar to that of a toddler on Christmas. 

Alongside all the things I do (my actual job, sewing, tidying, cooking, tanning pigskin, etc) I feel that even the most simple things, that wouldn’t ordinarily be considered ‘work’ to people, are often taken for granted as gifts to other people. 

A mere smile or squeeze of the hand can be life-altering for some people, depending on the day. I am a firm believer that every single little thing that one does alters the world, much like the old adage about if a bird flaps it’s wing in America then  someone will feel a breeze in Japan or something (I don’t know quite how it goes), but everything everyone does is crucial to someone, somewhere. 

So for now, I will continue creating, smiling, baking, writing and taking photos, as I believe these things are the biggest and most special gifts that I give to people…. 

tuesday and ting

This Tuesday I don’t FEEL like hearting… I FEEL like curling up on my bed and just existing between dreams and the words of Chuck Palahniuk for the entire day… 

I’m tired despite a fairly excellent sleep, I have a headache despite the existence of paracetamol in my system and I’m cold despite the incredibly beautiful weather we have been gifted today. 

My life is anything but unpleasant. I am aware that I have been blessed with a life that most people would die for. I am spoiled rotten, quite gifted when it comes to baking and arts and crafts and I seem to have good luck smile upon me on a daily basis… I don’t mean to complain, but it just feels like, despite all the magnificent things that my life is made of, I just really, really can’t seem to pull myself out of this stupid slump I am in. 

Like, I’m pretty certain I know WHY I’m in this slump… the combination of moving house, moving continents, gaining citizenship and everything that has to do with all of these things, they’ve taken their toll on me… they’ve left me feeling quite tired and I’ve not taken the time to have a nap in amongst all of this. I’ve just been running and running and running and not stopping to smell all the flowers (metaphorical relaxing days for myself) and taking for granted the wonderful helpers on the side of the road who’ve been offering me cool bottles of water (metaphorical respite and rejuvenation). I have just been bulling along through my days with my own stupid agenda and now, as of like, last night, I just feel like it’s genuinely taking its toll on me. I feel like I am destroying all the special, beautiful little things in my life. 

Yesterday, despite having had an amazing weekend, I felt raw, arsey and bored. I started the day deciding I was going to only exist for me and laid in bed with a cup of tea and re-reading haunted by Palahniuk. I laid there for two hours and whilst I don’t typically enjoy activities such as this, I really, really loved it (as you will read further on down).

After an hour or two I got on with cooking a meal for Pow and me, working on my newest project and watching films. I spoke to Muffin in the morning and it was alright… as I said above, I felt bored. After our chat I meandered into the lounge and threw myself on the sofa and said I felt strange. Pow asked me what I felt strange about and I went on to explain how I have developed a feeling of complacency… 

several weeks back Muffin had told me that he was busy and that he didn’t have the time to contact me as much as I wanted and that he worried if we had to go a day without talking I would fall to pieces. Well, ever the spiteful little lady, I spent the following two days not talking to him, purely to show him that I was able to do it. since then I’ve severely cut down my talk-time with him which has, in turn, left him emailing me less and… well… let’s just say we only really talk during the brief calls he makes to my mobile, which SHOULD be good enough, but when he spent the first two or three months grooming me with between three and six LONG and incredibly emotional, lovely emails a day and photos and videos and OMG… 

I’ve been left feeling a little like a deflated balloon. I’d gotten so used to having him there, always sending me emails and taking photos and things… 

Now, I just feel complacent. I feel like I’ve backed off SO MUCH that we’ve created a distance that makes me feel really ugly inside. I don’t feel as excited as I used to when I see him come online…. I still DO get excited, but nothing like I used to. People at work have started to notice that I don’t talk about him as much and I guess I just generally have this fear that when I get to america it’s either going to be incredibly good or really, REALLY bad. 

I hate the distance and it’s making me tired. I had forgotten how much it hurts to have to be so far away from someone you have such a burning for. I can’t remember what emotions I felt before I moved to England… what worries I had… 

I can’t remember if I was terrified that I would show up and it wouldn’t be good. I can’t remember if I feared that he wouldn’t love me anymore when he had to live with me for good (which, to be fair, DID happen, so really, if I DID fear that, then it wasn’t completely unfounded). I perhaps should go back to old blogs and see what went through my head then and how I coped with it at that time… 

Is it normal for me to be so scared? Does it make me look like an idiot when I say that I worry that we won’t work out despite the fact that we have invested so much time, energy and money into this? Am I a bad person because I am making sure I book my ticket’s return primarily to save me money, but also with the knowledge that if things don’t work out, I will have a backup plan? 

God, I am so terrified. I will be buying my ticket in four days and I am scared. I have never been more scared of anything in my life. I KNOW that when I book my ticket on Friday morning, that’s gonna be it… I WILL be leaving and I can’t turn back. Once I have clicked on that button I can say goodbye to that £600 and keep my fingers crossed for the proceeding 62 days… crossed in hopes that Muffin and I work out and I won’t have wasted all that money on a pipe dream. 

I am aware that I am most likely in a tizzy at the moment because I am scared. I realize that perhaps my mind is creating this fabulous series of doubts in an effort to stop it from having to process all the scary stuff, I AM going to persevere… I AM going to go to america and I AM going to give this time with Muffin a proper go. I know I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t. 

Urgh, let’s not focus on this junk…  just, that’s where my head is. Scattered. 

Now, on to better things! Things I heart!

Janeyvisit… I decided on an impromptu visit to see my janeyface for this weekend. This occurred to me when I realized that I only have NINE WEEKENDS left in the country and seven of those weekends are already full. I booked the other two weekends in to travel down to London to see janeyface, which means I will only be seeing her four more times before I leave (oh dear, just typing that out then, it took me a little short and I got a bit misty, sorry). I will be travelling down early Friday afternoon for a weekend of drinking, clubbing, tattooing, meeting her parents,  and eating more sushi and buns than I ever knew possible. I have been craving sushi like nobody’s business and there’s nobody I love picking-out and eating sushi with more than my janeyface. I can’t actually believe that this is going to be it. this will be the first of only four visits with her before I leave. I can’t believe it. I want to arrive and make sure that I spend as much time memorizing as many of the moments we have together as possible. I love her so much and to think that I won’t have her on the same land-mass as me for thirteen months breaks my freaking heart. She’s such an amazing person. I love her and her beautiful face so much. I’ve no idea where I would be in England without her… obviously in derby, but like, where would I be mentally. She has brought me out of myself in a way nobody else could have. I have more fun with her than I do with most people. She’s an amazingly beautiful and fun person who I can’t help but smile when I think about.  

Lying in bed reading… I’ve never been one to do this. I’ve always found myself far too caught up in just GOING in my life to stop and just enjoy a couple of hours in bed with a book and a cup of tea. I took this opportunity Sunday and relished every single second. I laid on my bed and listened to the hum and vibration of the songs Pow was mixing whilst I let the words from the book crawl into my brainspace and create images and memories for the characters being described in the book. I laid there, under my new duvet and fell in love with my space, my book, my hangover and my afternoon. It was a special series of moments that I took purely for me and my mind and body thanked me for it.
Artificial apple flavouring… particularly sour apple… NOM! 

Nick Parker… again. Such an outstandingly beautiful man… he’s helped me in so many ways, ways he most likely doesn’t even know.the bursts of love i have for him at the moment came in the shape of friday and saturday night. friday night i entered the pub and got myself a drink and he and i sat in the corner heckling the football in between bursts of me attempting to shriek in support of the English team. we talked about the pub and the game and then we talked about me leaving. he told me how much he is going to miss me and said that he wanted to get a tattoo for me before i leave. the next night i fell in love with him again... the moment it happened was when he was performing on stage with Amy... he was performing and wearing a blonde wig and the light made my heart hurt. made it hurt because i have no idea how i could live without the likes of him... how i am going to go a year without seeing his little face and cuddling him, i have no idea. he is such an amazingly beautiful man. so much fun and so beautiful. i am now attempting to ensure i spend as much time as i can with the people i love the biggest in the next sixty-six days... i need to make sure i have as many memories and photos as possible. i heart nick parker and have no idea what i will do without his little face for a year. 
old, disused buildings
Pow's handwriting
Goncalves
calculators
chlorine
the ducks and the way the front one JUDT peeks past my hairline
cardigans
having a fag in the bath
looking back on all the 'looks' i've seen Pow go through
blood orange juice
prawns
the smell of old patient records
sausage dogs
hoovering
ben edmonds
thomas truax
swimming
Poland
knowing i'm better than a lot of people
post-it's
m & m 's
sleeping with the window open
living alone
Energizer Lithium batteries
photodays with Pow
acoustic guitar
remembering times or days when i didn't hate my husband
homemade spaghetti
my drunk tattoos... mmhmm, i'm a winner. a week or so ago i went to the official opening of my tattooist's new shop and everyone got drunk... three cans of cider in, Tara, Kevin's fiance, came to ask if i wanted a tattoo... i was drunk enough to bumble immediately upstairs and pick out the perfect colour to allow two people who've never tattoo'd before to have a go at my arm. i am now the proud owner of two new, very special tattoos, both of which has the individual who did it's name on... so yes, i now officially have two people's names on me and two tattoos i will never, ever cover up. 
body butter
NOT tired days
over-thinking
planning my leaving party
compound words
80's fashion
my memory
Bon Jovi
texts from Nick Parker
my tiny pomp
when black people have the surname 'white'
when friends announce they are pregnant
finally closing the 7 palmerston street book... as depressing as it was, i can't help but feel a massive wave of relief for not having THAT responsibility anymore... it's so, so lovely to just be able to come home at the end of the day and not have to worry about having to care for a house all by myself. i am now on the home stretch back to america and i can't help but be pleased that all the bits and pieces are finally being tied up into parcels with nice little bows. 
glass-collecting at Bar One

how natural it feels to live with Pow... i can't believe how easy it is to live with him. how easy and wonderful it is. we just get on so well and it's like living with the most wonderful, fun, safe person ever. i've never lived with someone that i've been so close to before and it makes me happy to come home every day  to make dinner, pick out a film and lounge on the sofa, creating fabulous things together. he'a my best friend and i have no idea, after living with him, that i will be able to leave him at the airport. 
IKEA
integrating my things with other people's
the USA vs. UK world cup game
my stripey, long-sleeved top
when muffin is being cute
Franny
big brother
prawns and cocktail sauce
popping my joints
women with shaved heads
washing my face
really old books
anatomy books
the seashell animal shelf Pow and i have set up
pesto
salami
doing washing-up
lava lamps
west-country accents
australian accents
snake anatomy
crude people
fluffy robes
oranges
caramel shortcake
really heavy rain
thunderstorms
Gok Wan
IKEA meatballs
Shrek
onions
really good mugs
rotary telephones
charity-shopping with Pow
finding letters or cards from my mum
days when Pow's stable
Alan Carr
my dentist teeth
8 out of 10 cats
really pale girls
Beyonce
Tim Baxley
Stephanie Smith
wigs
my gogol bordello shirt
good hair
feeling helpful
stethoscopes
cowboy hats
snakeskin boots
empire dresses
bowler hats
listening to music as often as possible
builders
posh english accents
the fact that people describe my hair as "hitler hair"
braces
moles (the animal)
my drawings
Ali's signature
Cheerios
milk
the sound of a VHS rewinding
sudden realizations
easy-to-peel oranges
when Pow's in a good mood
when people randomly make animal noises
having a really good surge of creativity
burlesque at Bar One
my Danni Filth tattoo
good dreams
other people's handwriting
scottish accents
shortbread biscuits
smoked bacon

at least once a day...

At least once a day he asks me that question… 

“How are you settling in?”


Every single time I chuckle to myself and tell him not to be silly and that I settled in six years ago… the only difference now is rather than a fiver a day on taxi fair back to mine, I’m only dropping 50 calories as I mince up the stairs and flop into my bed.

I have officially been moved out of number 7 for three days, although I’ve not slept there in six.


The last two visits to the house were the worst, beginning Saturday. Saturday saw me packing all the bits of my tiny life into a van piloted by Mr Tree. All the stuff that had previously adorned the walls and shelves of my bedroom, lounge and dining room were stowed away within their own cardboard prisons, unsure of whether they would be allowed to escape for the next year or not. I reluctantly packed away all the tiny bits and pieces of my life that I had so carefully dotted around my house so as to allow for ample smiles, memory induction and general comfort-clutter.

That Saturday, everything was gone. All that remained in the house were the cast-offs that I was unable to fit into any boxes.

Well, I COULD have fit them, had I not been retarded. I had SO much notice for the move but kept putting it off because it was just far too painful to face. I love that house so much and I thought that perhaps, if I just left it until the last moment something otherworldly would happen and either everything would suddenly and magically be packed for me, or I would be allowed to stay, rent-free for my last ten weeks.


Because of this fabulous lack of preparation, I left the house that day in a state that perhaps resembled some sort of memory-hurricane aftermath… I closed the door that Saturday morning and immediately had to lean on the brick wall that made up the corner of my bay window…. I had to lean, otherwise I would have crumpled into a heap on the street and Tree would have had to have carried me into the van and then carried me into the new house. I leaned and let out a tiny whimper before climbing into Tree’s van and driving off to the new house.

Photos, toys, drawings and ticket stubs, they were what scattered the floor of every room in the house… they were the painful things that I had to approach on Tuesday with ruthless force. Pow and I arrived at the house for noon armed with bin liners, a hoover and cleaning products. I told him that I just wanted everything to go into the bin, no exceptions, and charged upstairs to begin bagging up all the remnants that were strewn about my old bedroom. I knelt and the first thing I found was a stuffed-monkey… a monkey Christopher and I had named ‘Burt Reynolds’ and hung proudly on every door or stairwell we could on a rotating basis. Christopher had won Burt for me at Frontier Days the summer of 2004 during his visit. I cuddled Burt to my chest, smelled him and wept… Pow came in from the spare room with a silly hat on and asked if I was okay. I gave him a thumb’s-up and shoved Burt into a bin bag… suffocated him in his plastic tomb with all the other memories that he would have to live with for eternity.


Every single little thing I passed my fingers across held its own special memory that I replayed in my mind and that broke my heart… the stars hung on the wardrobe, the toucan gravy boat and the bottle of Advocaat. Every single one of those things, upon picking them up, whisked my memory bank to the middle of the ballroom in my mind and performed a heart-wrenching and emotional rendition of some sad production or dance routine that left me feeling weary, weepy and some other suitably sad ‘w’ word that I can’t even think of at the moment. 

Pow had to leave early, so I forced him to take one final photo at number 7... the photo that is effectively one of my favourite photos ever...

At the end of the day I left number 7 with my giant lily in my arms and Nick in front of me.


I left the keys on the table along with a letter I wrote to my landlord.

I left the house I had fallen so, SO madly in love with three years ago for the last time.


I maintained my composure without crying purely because Nick is precious and hysterical and I couldn’t help but laugh at the visage of myself holding my giant lily plant, freshly dug out of the garden and placed in a bin liner (the only thing big enough to hold the plant’s giant roots) as though I were some off-beat beauty-pageant queen with the biggest bouquet in the history of the world. I pranced around in the hallway before making my way into the fresh evening sunlight and closing the door for the final time.


Nick dropped me off at the new house, which was thankfully devoid of housemate, we had a cup of tea and he left me to it. I immediately didn’t know what to do… I felt a little lost. I stood in the kitchen that I was so familiar with and stared at the mess the combination of my life and Pow’s had created. I set on to tidying it, did all the washing-up, completely re-organized the kitchen cupboards and transplanted my lily before washing my hands and settling down on the wheelchair in the garden with a cup of tea, my book and chevy for my first relaxed sit-down at my new, temporary residence.


The last three days have been blissful. The house has now been perfectly tailored to suit both of our needs and living with him is one of the best things that I could have imagined.


I spent the two weeks prior to the move fretting over the fact that me moving in with him was either going to be the make or break of our friendship… sure that he was going to HATE living with me and would kick me out within a week.


We exist in a wonderful way that has been described by people as ‘combining two of the exact same people in one house.’ We have restful evenings watching films and creating, nice walks to the shop and just the right amount of time away from one another to make our random antics throughout the house all the more perfect.

My moving-in seems to have been the best thing for both of us. I get to spend as much time as I want with my squishy-face and he gets to have his PA living with him and helping him sort his life out for ten weeks. He seems happier and I am so, so much happier.

He is such a safe place for me…  someone that I can really just sit and be completely relaxed and myself with. I love his house, him and my life at the moment. I couldn’t possibly be happier, even if I tried. 

 my bedroom

i worry...

I was just this moment thinking, I was thinking about Molly. I stumbled across thoughts of her and her tiny, precious face in a very, VERY round-about way, but none-the-less, I have done now and cannot seem to stop. 

It started because of a conversation here in my office just today. A couple of colleagues and myself were talking about birthdays and the fact that Al, my favourite colleague, has a shocking amount of things that she has to celebrate in June (birthdays, anniversaries, etc). From there it branched into how difficult it is to purchase presents for a lot of her family members… THEN we went on to discuss Father’s Day, which takes place on the 20^th, Sunday and the fact that Al’s daughters are having a hard time trying to pick something out for their father for Father’s Day. 

Okay, so firstly, I don’t have a dad, so I’ve never had to place much thought on the day. It wasn’t really until six years ago that I even registered it as a special day for any reason… the reason for my notice of this particular holiday was born from the fact that my ex-husband has a horrific memory and I had to be the person that was familiar with all birthdays and holidays on the calendar so we didn’t get into trouble with our nearest and dearest were we to forget a special day. 

So, in the tradition of having to be the rememberful wifey, I have made certain I have reminded Muffin on a regular basis to get a card for his father. 

Anyways, back to the conversation, kind-of. Al’s discussion re: Father’s Day reminded me of a conversation I had with Muffin last night… I drifted off into my own world, away from the office conversation and went on to think about the details of what was said between Muffin and me last night… I had asked him if he got his dad a card… his response was, “well, I’ve gotten my Pop a card, I’ve not gotten one for my dad yet.”

It only took me a moment to recall the fact that Muffin has a biological father (Morris) and a Step-Father (Dave), both of whom he is in regular contact with. I had completely forgotten for a moment and scolded myself briefly for allowing that to happen. 

Anyways, THAT’S not the important bit… when we were having the discussion I didn’t think much more about it, it was only this morning, sat here at my desk, with the remnants of a Kellogg’s Special K Bar stuck in the crevices of my teeth that I began to think more about the anatomy of that conversation… what the meaty bits were made of. 

I thought briefly about the fact that Muffin has two dads and wondered what that was like (given that I have NO dads)… he loves both his dads so much and talks about them both with very high regard. I often wonder what that must be like, what it must have been like as a child… 

I then thought about a programme I was watching on telly the other day, a talk-show that had a guest who is currently a step-mum and had a step-parent when she was a child. given her experience with all things ‘step,’ this marvellous woman is writing a book on what it is like to be a step-parent and a step-child… what emotions can go on from both ends and how to deal with things in a ginger and appropriate manner when certain, unavoidable situations happen. Again, I did not offer this show or this woman much of my brain-power at the time, but now, I find myself thinking, realizing that in a short time, whenever I am ready, I will be a step-parent. I will very suddenly be thrust with the responsibility of having three step-children.
Granted, I will not see a huge amount of them, given the personal situations between Muffin and all their perspective mothers, it is still quite daunting to think that I will be even slightly responsible for small children that are not my own. It is a foreign concept to me… foreign but not altogether unpleasant. 

The one child I am most daunted by is Molly, the OTHER female in Muffin’s life. This is praying on my mind most right now, not because he’s got a child and OMGIHATEHIM for it, and not because he and I will never have a child (yes, THAT is another blog topic all on its own), but mostly because I can remember something very specific… 

Alexis. 

Alex is my brother-in-law’s daughter, my sister’s step-daughter. 

My sister, Carmen, came into Alex’s life when she was six and has been there for the last eleven years. Carmen has been there for her and helped her with countless homework assignments and growing-up problems. Carmen has done her best to be a warm and giving person (which, if any of you have ever met my sister, is no easy task for her, as she is a very awkward and cold person who tends to find it difficult to show any sort of emotion) to Alex, offering her anything that she could possibly need, only to have everything she ever gave Alex thrown back in her face last November during a fit of adolescent rage. 

It had been a slow incline towards ugly for the last year or two, but it seems Alex turning sixteen was the straw that broke the camel’s back. For a year prior to last November Alex could be found lashing out at school, but only on the weeks that she was staying with her dad and my sister. She would shout at her teachers, got into a car accident and was found on several occasions sending texts to her biological mum calling Carmen really horrible names and making claims that she was abusive to her. 

Last November, during Paige’s birthday party Alex caused a massive scene and decided to go live with her mum in Colorado. She did this, stating the cause was my sister, that she was horrible to her, alienated her and made her feel awful about herself…  all of these things are untrue. Carmen has always put every effort in to making sure that Alex was comfortable and felt just as loved and appreciated as the other two children. 

Having had a front-row seat to this spectacular show, from the opening curtains to the current intermission (as I presume there WILL be a second half and I bet it will be breathtaking, making people laugh, cry and want to call their brothers), I find myself terrified that something similar will happen with Molly and me. I will be entering Molly’s life at a similar time that Carmen entered Alex’s and the thought that she will view me in any sort of negative light makes me hurt inside. 

I am well aware that Molly’s mum hates me and will most likely slander me often, trying to smear my name so as to turn Molly against me, but I would like to hope that as someone who will hopefully be in Molly’s life for a long while, she will eventually see that I am only going to be there to love her, teach her to bake and crochet. I just generally want to help make her happy and as comfortable as possible. 

I don’t even know where to start with his boys. I don’t know what kind of a relationship that will be or how it will be approached, but I can’t see them being as big of a hurdle as Molly. She already has a defined life, a mum, a dad, a step-dad and now, soon, a step-mum… I just hope that I can integrate into her life as easily as possible, because no matter how terrifying it is to think that I will have to share Muffin with another girl, there is NO other precious face I would rather share him with than this one…