Cold turkey

What do Americans call the aftermath of Turkey Day? Cold turkey? I bet not. It would be unjust of me, too, to call it that, or rather, it wouldn't do justice to the man and our relationship. J was here, we had fun, we had some disagreement that was resolved and he left yesterday. I was left with some emptiness in my heart. I am a bit melancholic, which is not an unusual feeling after he leaves but this time I feel also blue because I feel the loss of some feelings between the two of us. He was the love of my life.

Anyway, I have to quit musing, I have a young French suitor to write to. He thinks I might have gotten killed in the university shooting of Pecs. How global we turned, in more than one ways.

Thanksgiving

My old BF is coming over for a long weekend to visit. He picked of all the occasions Thanksgiving, this most sacred of American holidays. A lot of people asked me, upon telling them, "is his wife coming with him?". I had to laugh this question off, in all its naivety, but it still got to me. They must have very little common ground by now, that J chose to spend it with me. I was a bit shocked myself. I am looking forward to his visit, but not without some anxiety. I hope all is going to be well.

From the web: Diary of a Heretic: The Underground Nest

I have no idea how I accidentally pulled this from the net but I'll keep it here, now that I have already two comments. Anyway, as you might have guessed even without me saying so, it was not written by me. But I kind of liked it.

Diary of a Heretic: The Underground Nest

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Nicole Revisited Revisited

Dickie again doesn't let me comment on his post. So here we go again (doing it in my blog). (Scroll down for the prequel.)

Regarding Big Gulps, you just don’t bring them on dates. It looks tacky and cheap and I’m pretty sure it violates the international rules of dating and decorum as decreed by the UN Charter. You just don’t bring big gulps into Starbucks. It’s just totally weird. This was not however the showstopper. It just bothered me a little.

I offer Nicole and plenty of women like her reciprocity. I can give women like this love that they would never dream possible.

In theory, maybe. But you admit later on that she scares you. How could you give your love to someone who looks scary to you? Even in theory? Or are we talking about other girls who similarly rejected you because of monetary issues?

Entertainment. Stimulating conversation. Excitement. Adventure. I can show them what it truly means to be alive. I am fairly convinced that most of the Nicole’s of this world will never find a Dickie. Some, and I mean (some) will find second-rate men who happen to live well above the poverty line. Doesn’t make them better. In the grand scheme of the universe they’re really not. But most people don’t consider all the features of a potential mate. Paper wealth is treated sort like the way colleges treat SAT scores. It’s a method of easy screening. But it doesn’t give the complete picture. My loving capacity alone is worth a good $100,000 a year. I’m very low maintenance too. Having me around the house would cost little more than your average goldfish and yet I give so much back. I would even clean their houses and cook their meals. And I am a good cook. Do you have any idea how much maids cost these days? Do you think these women are going to find anyone sweeter than me? I can assure you that that’s not going to happen. Almost all the women I date live very comfortable lives. I date the cream of the crop. Why? Because only the most well-educated can begin to understand my genius and extraordinary modesty. I am a PhD magnet. These women can afford me.

Oh, but people also want security. They could have you as their toyboy but they want a provider too, as a worst-case scenario if their financial sources dry up or have a baby.

Moving on to breeder and looks issue. I think even good looking, fertile women should make me their man whore and be grateful because my real worth vastly exceeds my paper worth. I have Grade A DNA. My children would kick ass. I am convinced of this. Women should be grateful to get the good stuff. Would I have dated Nicole if I made money? No. I would be going for fertile women who wanted children, and I would certainly have a preference for good looking women. Does this make me evil to want children? If so, then you would have to say that the majority of the human race is evil. Does it make me evil to want beautiful women? No more evil than most other men as well as women. People like beautiful people. It’s not evil. It’s an evolutionary force. It’s the randomness of change and adaptation.

Maybe I’ve been too defensive with you, Kitty. Nicole scared the shit out of me. I ran away in terror. Her interrogation tactics wore me out. She seemed controlling and potentially manipulative. I felt like potential prey. I don’t want to be on guard all the time wondering if I am being manipulated. I don’t want to be controlled. She wanted to get to know me too quickly. She should have slowed it down. I cannot deal with all of that intensity when I first meet people. I really don’t think I made enough money for her anyways. She made it very clear to me that she was looking for someone who was economically independent. It would not have been wise for me to go for her, even if she didn’t scare the shit out of me. It would only be trouble because I would never be able to give her what she wanted.

Dickie, you are a hopeless narcissistic. Are you saying that aside from her scaring-the-shit-out-of-you personality you would have been a safe choice for her because you'd never be financially independent?

You are fucked up, I love you

You are fucked up and it might be final
Or might you have hope that I fix you?
Certainly not, I am not qualified,
not daring enough, neither courage, nor insight
Just the desire – there.

You cried while – or after? – randomly kissing
my body parts – or was it systematic?
Telling me what an awful thing happened to you
were dumped by a girl you never loved
as you told her in certain terms
a good many times.

And then you fell in love you thought
Hopelessly yearning for a bubble
You had burst before it was blown.
You cried and I smiled smugly when
you told me you could love me
when you'd put this behind you
plus my behind is nicer, too.

Or so you thought. True, the next day
you apologized I found cumbersome
but showed understanding
in case more is coming
my way.

You are fucked up and it's final
No hope, no way, no fixing
It's dawning on my understanding
while I bathe my face in the violet hue
I know you are fucked up
so I can love you.

Nicole

Interesting to see what is on a man's mind when dating. This is a comment on my cyberfriend Dickie's post, who would not let me comment on his blog so I post it here.

I thought Nicole's original email was really funny with the comment about the kayaking and changing into a tux in no time. I see profiles of men who love the "outdoors" all the time. I am an indoors type of woman and when I get to the "outdoors" part in men's profile I just lose interest almost instantaneously.

Sorry to hear she was carrying a 'big gulp' (and that it was so unattractive) and that she refused to accept a drink from Starbucks. Why did the big gulp bother you?

I disagree with your conclusion that she was a woman who wants her cake and eat it, too. What she wanted was reciprocity. If you want her to support her as of now, then, hypothetically speaking, could you do the same for her when the table turns? You clearly would not have any of that (but you can't yourself get to admit this). You probably would have been thinking "if I had money I'd want to date a babe with breeding potential, not you, you poor mediocre, unattractive woman with Big Gulp - you are supposed to be an answer to my current woes, not a source of headache-inducing puzzles and cross questions". Maybe the woman was smart enough to figure this out with her questions?

Comment on Dickie's post

Hey Dickie,

I just read your two posts of July. Very interesting. Your writing is precise and engaging. So did you take the offer of your psychopharmacologist (this word would have made Winnie-the-Pooh wonder if you sneezed Twice)? Funny they always seem to be concerned with your sex life. I used to go to a crook-ish psych in New York who used to prescribe mostly effexor (I vaguely remember that we tried Celexa, too, but simply can't remember the outcome, perhaps I rejected it in the end or didn't work for me) for me. He mentioned this standard stuff about sex drive lessened, etc. When he prescribed effexor I asked him how long the effect was going to last. He asked me why and when I didn't say he helped out with some trivial explanation. Of course I asked because of this notorious side-effect. And he wanted to hear about my sex life (or wanted to hear me wonder about my sex life at least), which I refused to do. By the way, I am happy to report that one's libido is definitely not affected after about 24 hours. As far as I know, effexor is the best stuff in the market (sorry, don't remember the generic name).

50-60 k thoughts

Allegedly we have 50-60 thousand thoughts a day, most of them the same as yesterday and the day before. I wonder how many new thoughts I have a day? And does it count if I read about something new or it has to occur to me? I am bored recently a lot. Could be, because I get a whole lot less new impressions in Budapest than I used to in New York.

The other day I talked to a young couple at our joint meeting with the Biochemistry Department at a pub on the Pest side. The guy was 26 and just flanked his neurobiology exam, the girl was 20 and quite beautiful. They could not fathom how I could have left New York for the sake of Budapest. I told them New York was very stressful in the end. And Budapest? Is not it, too? I said no. It is only depressing. At which we had a hearty laugh.

Poets again

A few weeks ago my favorite poet, Edu, promised me to fix up my apartment. He is a great guy and writes beautiful poems. He had a tragic youth hood, amounting to a Greek tragedy almost. In light of that insight (he shared with me on that occasion) he turned out amazingly well-adjusted. Yesterday he called me again, and promised me to come around on Wednesday morning and fix my built-in cabinet's disjointed door (he doesn't know yet that my furnace is misbehaving, too and I also have 2 mirrors, 2 towel racks to put up, and two shelves to assemble). Don't forget your word, Edu! I'll teach him English in turn so he can read all my badmouthing about him in the future (or praise).

Dark chocolate coated cherries

Yes, I was eating them. They are just too delicious to resist! Yesterday I was reading Noisy's blog about losing weight 5 weeks in a row and got so inspired that I rushed to the gym and did lots of goddamn exercise. I got on the stepmaster for 6 minutes (53 calories - or kcal?) then ran 600 meters on the running board, did go through just about every exercise machine in the room, went in the weight room and did lots of exercise (like leaning forward, to the side, etc with two 3kg weights in my hands) and finally unwound in the Finnish sauna and the steam room. I saw the masseur, a cute, pleasant blond guy in the steam and he told me about the massages he does and it turns out he also does "room service", i.e. besides the health club he also comes to one's place and in that case he costs only 3,500 Forints for an hour (about $17). I am very tempted to try it as I used to have massages beforehand and they are very beneficiary for your general wellbeing.

But, back to the cherries. I just had to have like half of the (100g) bag, they were so delicious. I should get a scale like Noisy does. Although sometimes they are really useless - I measured myself twice in the gym yesterday - in the beginning I was about 67kg (with training clothes but no shoes on) and after the saunas when I measure "only" 64 kilos. Felt fairly dehydrated though. In any case, I don't think I weight more than I did yesterday afternoon but feel a bit guilty about eating sweets when I am trying to lose weight. I just want to see the results of all that hard exercise, dammit!

Poets we hang out with

It seems I am getting to know more and more poets. Till now I was viewing them with suspicion and didn't quite think they should play any role in my life. When I was 30 I had a boyfriend for a while who was a traffic engineer (or if there is no such thing then think of the closest profession this description evokes) and lived together with his ex-wife, her new husband and the child of the latter two. All in glorious harmony in a beautiful house owned by my then boyfriend, Gyula. It was an idyllic setting. And he wrote poems, too. And played them on his guitar (after adding some tunes, I guess).

Ah, but it didn't last. Soon, Gyula didn't seem to appreciate me that much. But I made friends with her ex-wife and her new family. We are still friends actually, though sadly Gyula is not with us, earthlings, anymore. Andrea, a sharp woman with a sometimes exceedingly sarcastic demeanor, once told me to imagine Gyula as he recites his own poems while playing his music on his guitar. We had to laugh, it was such a funny image, so ridiculous. I soon broke up with Gyula, and then thought I can leave poets in my past and their poems in the dust.

However, my sister is also a poet. Well, an amateur one. Thanks God, Andrea never let her recite her poems to her (as they became friends, too) so this way she can't sharpen her tongue at the expense of my poor sister. To be honest, I don't read her poems much, so I can't tell if they are good. But I discovered, poets are fun (sometimes) to hang out with. They have a soul for sure.

Tonight we hung out with 3 of her fellow poets and they were pretty nice bunch. And the hostess, Morci has a sweet son, a teenager, who wants to be an actor. He is apparently used to his mother's idiosyncratic friends as he didn't faze for a sec when Morci showed up with the three of us. Later a guy (also a poet) came over, too.

I think I have to check on my cats now.

New developments on the cat front

Hello Universe! I have two cats these days, Macika and Babci. This is Macika.