Straight girls make bad dates

I'm supposed to be going on at least one date a month. It's good to do so. It helps to stay in a loop and forces one to practice flirtation and seducing techniques or at least makes one talk to strangers. Good skills to have if one wants to stay romantically involved. Sometimes it's not all about sex!

But the things are not looking that bright on a date front for January. I'm not saying that it won't happen but then there are only few days left and I made myself a pretty plan of daily activities that leave no spare time for strangers. Maybe I was not overly proactive and I haven't really put my heart in it this month but that was partially due to my New Year resolution - stop obsessing about girls and just relax!
It's not like I didn't try at all. I ran after a straight girl for a little while. She caught my attention and I spent many hours kissing her face when we first met (or so I was told) therefore I wanted to honour her by January girl nomination. Finally, after all that chasing I got a date. She bailed at the time ten minutes to!
I got angry only for a very short while for I remembered about my resolution. I went to have some random sex instead. It was fine, I suppose.

Last night when I was checking up upon my city I bumped into the straight girl. She made an excuse, apologised and swiftly parted. And I thought that it was such a waste of a potential winter romance. My friend said that straight girls are narrow. Maybe. I still think that everyone should try to be gay in their lifetime, even if just for a little while.

Today this city will be mine

'One day this city will be mine' sings Swietlicki ('kiedys to miasto bedzie moje'). He was an unsuccessful Polish poet. He found his way forward, he started to sing his poetry. That worked.

Violetta Villas was a very successful Polish singer. She had an amazing vocal scale. She used to perform in Las Vegas with all the splendour, with all the lights and eyes focused on her. She was not a beautiful girl but she was glam. The world was at her feet. Until one day her Mum got unwell. Violetta returned to the motherland. It was a bad political and social time. A guy that used to write songs for her, songs that were exploring her wonderful capabilities and pushing them to the extreme, died. From being an international star Violetta changed into a misunderstood girl lost in reality. Her Mum died too and so she started withdrawing more and more from life. In my teenage years I used to hear of her living alone in a house full of cats. The animals were breeding and smelling badly. She lost almost all of the control. She was a frequent visitor in mental health institutions. It's a heartbreaking story.

Polish mental health institutions used to be very much different from Bristish ones. I'm not sure how they are now. When, as a keen student, I frequented them they were full of so-called classic schizophrenics, classic bi-polars, not many borderlines nor PDs. Many people were institutionalised. There was a lot of religious references, a lot of weird and fascinating histories. There was no hassle over privileges and benefits but everyone had a right to be given a voice.

Today.. this city will be mine.

A Perfect Stranger

This is a title of a story that I wanted to write. I never wrote it for I don't know how to write it. For all I see in my mind's eye there would be an autumnal aura and it would have a feeling of a grand French and Russian literature combined together. It should be a perfect story if it ever comes to life.

The idea is simple. Strangers are people that we know very little about and especially we know nothing about their past, families, jobs, diseases, troubles, wants, needs and downfalls.. you name it. They are people we can connect with but we are not entangled with, nor interrelated with. Therefore they are a perfect ground for releasing our needs, wants and fantasies. Strangers can be anyone for us and they can play any role we want them to play.

In my story that, of course, would be a love story, meeting a perfect stranger leads to a perfect romance. It would be a time limited and expiry date bounded romance that would however enable living up longed for dreams (it doesn't necessary mean dirty) and emotional flows.

Although I didn't write it last summer I was lucky enough to have my own perfect stranger experience. My affair lasted nineteen hours and went smoothly through all the stages of a regular romance starting from a meeting for a first time and quickly escalating to a great passion and desire and then finally last (and only) goodbye. Due to its intense and speedy nature I started flirting with my stranger woman by a first drink, kissed her by a second, we started using couple styled pronounces like 'we' and 'our' by a third drink and so on and so forth.  I drunk many drinks that night. Two key elements were that we didn't even know our real names (I was Scarlett, that's a bit dirty but luxurious) and we knew that the end would inevitably come. The parting was probably one of the most beautiful ones I have ever had in my life. No drama, no anger, just beauty and mutual affection. It was perfect.

Okay, I pushed that experience to the limits. It was my test. My scientific nature was curious and wondered how far can one go in a game like that. The answer is: yes, you can say 'I love you'.

A Pathway to Gold

This evening I realised that going to the Olympics and winning gold or even playing competitive sport on a national level may not be just that simple. Why the idea? Well, it was a very long time ago, when I was young and innocent, that I had a conversation about how amazing that would be to run around the stadium with a national flag in raised hands after winning something (that bit was not precise and not the most crucial). Believe me, that would be an extraordinary experience.

Last summer I was lucky to go to the Olympic games and watch female handball semifinals. I truly enjoyed that and I have returned determined to join a handball team, become pretty good at it and possibly go to Rio in 2016. It was a cunning plan. Handball is a very young sport in the UK and hence, despite my age and a late start, I could stand a chance to succeed. And lets not forget about getting a free British passport (which is some kind of a perk).

That brings me to today when finally I went to meet my local handball team. I felt like I ought to do it and at the same time I was full of shyness. I know, many of my friends would not call me shy however, when I dance wildly with strangers, talk loudly in public places and kiss unnamed girls at the bar I am for most of the time surrounded by my dearest and nearest and they always give me an incredible boost of confidence.

Pondering on that subject for most of my working day I decided to brave myself and do it, be a grown-up.

And guess what happened? My flatmates decided to play the parents for an evening and they walked me to the sport centre, watched me from the balcony and after all was done walked me home. Ah, I'm a very lucky creature.

But back to the game. It's going to be a hard pathway to get where I would like to get in such a short period of time! I was like a lost lamb on that field and I definitely need to do a lot of work on my throwing. It was said to me many a times - I throw like a gay. Not even like a girl, like a gay (which despite my natural love for everything gay is not the most effective way of doing some things). Despite that shortcoming I believe to know a way of improving my game style and general performance that does not rely on just training. Maybe the time has come to test it..

The Blogging Project

Some long time ago my Dad said, 'If you want to write, you have to write.'
He was damn right. He also suggested that I could have my blog and use it as a daily writing exercise. The idea seemed good and very well suited but, as we say, I didn't know how to bite on it. I started two blogs, they lived a splendid butterfly life and that was it.
With the beginning of this year my friend, who is an upcoming writer, started her blog. She writes about writing and other stuff and keeps me entertained during long shifts at work. Not only that of course. I read and learn and get inspired.

And so it happened today that I decided to do it. The Blogging Project. Write something, anything for twenty minutes a day.

Multiple advantages:
- excellent writing exercise
- perfect routine exercise
- opportunity for ideas to grow
- dump place for all the things I often instantly want to say but on occasions there's no-one right next to me to share that with

What is it going to be about?
Life, love, lust.
Nice slogan, innit? But probably quite true. Life is all we have. Love is often all we want (or I do at least). And lust.. well..

I had two blogs already started so I decided to continue with one of them, which is the current one. The other one is called '30 things before I'm 30'. However, I'm over thirty now so that didn't seem appropriate. Nevertheless, I have 40 things before I'm 40 list (yes I do) and I may write about it here from time to time.

Migration stories

I used to be ragazza senza terra, a man without a country. Neither from here, neither from there. Suspended. Now .. I'm a little bit from here and a little bit from there, a man of two countries. Too Polish in England, too English in Poland. In total 1&1/4 of a man.

First day in the land of the fathers. For a change a very Catholic day. Everyone is smoking cigarettes. Cemetery sunk in the forest. Roots embracing bones and memories. Stones, flowers, candle lights and crosses in a warm late summer day.

My first meal, my favourite. So underestimated due to its simplicity. Purity and richness of basics. Heaven on earth. Fresh, still warm, dense bread with a fair layer of a real milky butter. That's all. Perfection. Bułka z masłem :)

Family venture to the church. When was the last time I visited any church for a reason other than sightseeing or pendulum-gazing? But there it was, a Holly Mass. Priests, prayers, the Bible, God. The spirit of my grandma. (Okay, I couldn't resist, and a new story line in my head)

Ah the family conversations! It was lovely, it was great but it requires so much focus to be able to follow at least two parallel stories/discourses (that are fragmented and full of digressions) and to answer the right thing to the right person at an appropriate time and, most importantly, to leave no man behind, no man excluded... Welcome home.

And let's not forget a new toothbrush and new slippers awaiting at home, guarded by an old, faithful dog.

I'm not doing it like the others, am I?

It was a comedy night. It was fun. It was entertaining. It was a lesbian night. It was fun. It was flirtatious. Cute chicks, alcohol, clove cigarettes. I had a hot hot girl kissing my neck. I had a hot guy telling me that I was the only lesbian he had wished to turn straight. I took the compliment. I took the kiss. And then I've sent the hot hot blood faced girl home. I'm home now. Not like most of the people would... It still was a le-gen-da-ry night!