fugh

saturday morning. modern dance class. black tights. black bodysuit. ratty t-shit. keep fussing with hair it looks like shit then it's in my eyes back to shit again in my eyes finally the bathroom fuck it!

so i'm getting tribal on the one's and two's. a wee bit out of my element but fuck it, it's saturday morning with a bunch of chill people, some drums and some earth dancing. then what's his hippie cupcake fuck shows up (who i'd finally met for dinner the week before to explain that being single means for me to be alone, and not for you to be in love with me, and with your brazilian girlfriend from 2 years ago, who you haven't seen since. i will leave that bizarre love triangle for someone else to cipher). so he shows up, dramatically pokes his head in the classroom (left! right!) and then runs in to set up his goddamned tam tams.

pan to the tam tams. i need to bring you up to speed:



from the stuffing of cupcakes in the mouth era (they move quickly now): the hippie couldn’t kiss me because he was thinking about his girlfriend from 2 years ago in brazil who was on his mind because apparently he was ‘falling’. in love. with me. that night i had such a flashback to the early days with what’s his other fack - it's like i wormholed right back to this place we got to when i was crackers and everything was transactional and there was none of the sexual fabric that makes you want to peel off your panties and start screaming in japanese. FUCK THAT GUY. FUCK HIM. mister sensitive hippie went too fucking far with his honesty and left me feeling like a whore. somehow i end up with someone who takes me to this charming place. eats my fucking food, bitches that there is no wine left all WAH, this would go really well with a nice glass of red wine of which there is none left as he eyes the empty bottle. fuck him. fuck everyone. At this point i am so utterly and ROYALLY pissed off and insensed i cannot even see straight. sitting there all high and mighty on his goddamn hippie horse. all i'm confused - i really care about you - help me i'm falling – i care for this other girl but here, why don't i stick my cock the fuck in you? well friend, it's time we spent less time together and more time apart, you stupid ballerina hippie fuck go play your goddamn tam tams in the park.

a bit harsh yes but so necessaire. SO. he runs in to class and starts drumming away, the picture of contentment. why don't i come play for my woman, to show her the ways of the hippie? look at me in the centre where all eyes are cast on me me me. that's right - dance towards me as you fly across the room. make love to me with your eyes and your body as you fly, heaving yourself through time and space in a way one can only do hungover on a saturday morning. dance to the beat i drum for you as we complete the tribal cycle of life....

my girlfriend and i both lose our minds, fuck up our moves and start to wage war against him in the most silent screaming conversation ever, spluttering, eyes twitching, again insensed. we storm out after class - my foot now injured with rage, change and walk out the door of the studio without a word or a look back, moving quickly and purposefully, lest any of this escaped him. he summed up in those moments all that i disliked him for - his incredible need for attention and desire to look at women in tight clothes iced by the terribly inappropriate hippieness of it all.

after dinner last week he had sent his resume to me to get an information interview at my company. then tam tams. then rage. then delete.