What's Eating Gilbert Grape?

For some unfathomed reason, the title of this 1993(?) movie has suddenly come to mind. I have thought fleetingly about it over the years, and never could explain the why to myself. Now I'm suddenly overwhelmed, and it's almost scary. I have remembered bits and pieces but it was for the most part blurred. Not now. Now I remember it all, and I remember why memory would prod at my psyche. Because it had to get through. And again it is overwhelming, the paradox and the parallels. I suddenly remember which pair of jeans I had on, which of course has been long discarded, I also remember the ring on my finger. But it's late now, I'll do it all tomorrow.

The good and the mischief

So after more than an hour-long conversation I find that not only the Mister is coming down with a cold but also another Mister whom I love dearly. Love as in very deep platonic love, but love just the same. You just cannot not (oh dear that's two negatives), love this man whom I met as a young boy and whom I have difficulty realising that the boy is boy no more, he's a grown up man. The mischievous boy is now a man, still mischievous, but so good at heart and also at what he does. But I am forgetting that for a while as I have no doubt of his musical prowess anyway. The boy-turned-man has finally in yours truly's opinion been rewarded, not with money perhaps, but with another kind of love, not platonic, but love nonetheless. And I am so so so glad. And it makes me so happy that he has bagged himself not one but two girls in the process, and no there's no adultery involved, although it would make for good speculation. And I am so so so glad that the girls are nicely beautiful, if that term could ever be happily coined. My Mister and this Mister get on like a ball on fire, the other Mister's girl is one hell of a woman, strong, a beautiful hold-up-her-head-high-in-good-and-bad type of a girl. And that's my type. Because there will always be a time for everyone, especially for the good inside with mischievous smiles!

Brittle-not-Bones

And so I braved the weather, and I'm still here to tell the tale. There's no denying it, my love for shopping exceeds all normal reasoning, even that of the possibility to break bones. But I didn't break the bones, although my feet got drenched, and my hair still shows sign of rain-battering. I actually really wished I had one of those really ugly patent PVC caps like the ones worn to hide the bald patch by the no-good men loitering in public toilets in London's underground. I would not have loitered, and toilets would have been out of the question so maybe they wouldn't have looked so bad on me. Oh and I would have had flaming red hair underneath, if there is one thing I don't qualify for it's baldness, thanks to the very kind angels. But I had no cap, no umbrella, and still went for it. Hoping no shrink is reading this because I'm not too keen to be diagnosed with something, although if it means I'll be let free to prowl the shops then it would be a very small price to pay. Well small next to the bills I am running up on these dreaded and addictive sales. What I wanted to buy this morning, I had no idea. I just know what I ended up with and that's a beautiful coat in winter white which automatically made me feel like a virgin the minute I put it on (sometimes there's no harm in pretending), a beautiful grey cashmere suit for the office, except that I do not have an office to go to (but there again no harm in pretending), another funky purple suit which would take me from the office to a night out, (except there is no office and I could easily put six hours of sleep between my working hours and my nights out), a pair of jeans which I could wear all the time (no pretending here), a black casual sweater which I could wear all the time too, and a sexy please-take-a-look-at-my-cleavage-won't-you? top with roman sleeves which immediately gave me a power trip big enough to kick everybody in within my range, and which would be bang up to date for Friday evenings out in some sophisticated wine bar, except for the fact that I stay in on Friday nights, because there is not way I'm missing Crime Nights, and also because it would be very difficult to find me in a wine bar in the first place seeing that I hate the looks when I order my good old Diet Coke, I don't think that ordering a 10 inch dildo would raise as much eyebrows which also could do with a good old wax. Oh and lastly, and I had to drive like a mad woman for this, I also bagged (no pun intended) the white Chanel bag to go with my now new possession of a white winter coat, or a winter white coat, depending on if you're intent on colour-coding or not. And in between I managed to find myself in my favourite shoe shop, only to find out there there wasn't even one shoe in the whole shop which would fit me. There I was, lugging the new baggage (as if I haven't got enough of that already), my feet drenched to the bone, my normally chic hairstyle traded into the hairstyle of Cinderella, and without a shoe, which meant I was having a worse day than Cinderella. At least the only shoe fitted her. In my case, not one shoe fitted me. How plain ugly, just like the sisters, except that thankfully I have no sisters, or it would have made me feel worse.

Anyway, am typing enough silly things to last me to tomorrow's second round of tour de magasins. Because I've got my Chanel so now I just have to jog my memory of St. Joseph High School French a little bit. Oh I forgot, I also did that in A Level, it seems as if it's been one whole downpour, including that of foreign languages. But that has left me with no broken bones. Et donc je me rappèlerai, lentement. A bientot.

Watery

And now I am back very soon. No I still have not yet gone to sift through the passe` ou pas passe`. I thought something was wrong, didn't feel quite right. Ok and I'm now fixed only to be helloed by a nasty downpour. And then some people actually say they like watching the rain. I can never understand this boring hobby of rain-watching, it's just water obeying the law of gravity, what's there to look at more than perhaps a taking a fleeting look to see if it's raining or not? i could understand the fascination of watching the Niagara Falls, but simple rain? What a waste of time, I could have been running about for at least one hour, and no it's not that I'm scared of rain, or of shopping in the rain. I hate it because rain is a slippery thing, and no I don't want to fall, obviously that would be me too obeying the gravitational pull, I don't want to get wet, sprain something, or break another something in the process. You see, that's the thing with us musicians, we're massively scared of breaking bones because we know there's very little chance of them righting themselves completely. Of course we never include it in our CV because we get very little sympathy. We stand very still in showers, we are exceptionally careful of how to get out of a hot tub, because it could be fatal. So no, we, or at least I, have no fun in the shower. The classic text-book, peep-show playing around in the shower is a myth for me. I had a minor fracture once, (and it was not in any kind of bathroom but rather making it down the stairs in one second) thankfully it was not in a position (this is sounding like a mobile phone) to actually harm any of my playing or technique. I just got lucky once, I am not going to tempt fate. High heels are one other dangerous trap esecially if it's raining, they don't call them killer heels for nothing. It's still raining, and I am trying to weigh if my passion for shopping can actually overcome my fear of bone breaking...

Passe`

And I wasn't back soon. Partly because I kept obsessing about a word game, partly because I decided to take some time off and go and see the outside world. And partly because I guess the neon lighting I have here sometimes makes me lose it. But after a really short but good night's sleep I am here again, this time spankingly early. I really did want to get up this early, the thing is I never expected to be able to make it. I've been up for more than an hour already, because it's time for one thing, the one thing being to hit the sales. I haven't a clue what type of sales are on. All I know is that I had spotted a really sexy looking red leather pair of boots, and if they fit, then I'm also taking the white. Yes, I know, probably white in winter is tres passe`, but then probably a fiery red bomb of waist-long hair is also passe`. Or maybe not, I'm not sure Nigel would do anything which is passe`, the guy is so flamboyantly chic. But for me, passe` is what I don't like. Pas passe` is what I like regardless of everything. Smoking might also be passe`, but i don't care either. A weight issue is passe` but what can a girl do? Certainly not drown her worries into something called 'Jack Coke', as a lot of face bookers seem to be doing. I'll take the Coke as in the Diet Coke, I'll also take the Jack if it comes in some extremely handsome Englishman. But that's about it. Otherwise, for me, it's tous passe`. Take Burberry, somehow I will always find Burberry passe`.Take Chanel, whatever sprouts the Chanel tag c'est jamais passe`. Don't ask me why, it just happens that that's how it is. Prada je ne suis pas certain. Gucci and Cavalli, je suis tres tres certain. So that's what I'll be doing for the next 3+ hours. Passe` ou pas passe`?