Wrong.

Wrong.

So very wrong.

And what’s wrong?

I am.

Had a little conversation with miss Basketball about the Life, the Universe and Everything. Well, about relationships to be quite frank, not so much about Universe and/or Everything.

I fully understand I’m picky when it comes to women. I like to think I set the standard pretty high.

Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t.

Egal.

Wrong.

I put too much emphasis on looks but hey, to counterweight that I put a lot of weight on education, too.
Almost wrote “I put a lot of weight on what’s inside” and then I realized; no I don’t.

As long as I’m somehow tempted it’s cool. It doesn’t mean the inside would look good, nice or even fine.

And believe me; sometimes it doesn’t.

Education? Yes.
Master of Sciences (Eng.), Master of Arts (Theatre), Master of Arts (Design), Master of Something, Engineer. Don’t even want to think about all degrees.

Education.

Perhaps it’s not the education, perhaps it’s being smart that counts for me.
Perhaps.

Eye of the beholder, once more. There’s so many types of smart. Intelligent? Most definetly.
Smart?

Hmm.

Perhaps I’ll lower my bar.

Or not.

Travelling, part 1.

It was a year ago, travelling to Barcelona by plane.

Takes four hours.

And as it was, perhaps, the best four hours I have spent in a plane. (Actually the best four hours -  but perhaps not the best time I’ve have had in plane – but that’s a different story (and not that naughty, mind you)).

And why is that?

The usual reason (for me, at least), there was a girl sitting next to me. Or actually, not a girl, few years older than yours truly.

We actually chatted the whole way. She was a total stranger - perhaps this was a match made in heaven?

Hmmph, perhaps.

She was going to Spain, was studying to be a florist. Not my cup of tea but then who am I to judge?

Anyway.

She reminded me of miss Red. About the same height, same build (read: long legs, somehow sporty, nice looking).

And nice it was, chatting, telling little jokes and stories.

She had worked as volunteer at the same event as I a few months earlier, had done this and that. Had made a smallish decision and turned everything around; from stewardess to florist.

Was pretty impressed. (What about? Everything.)

Then the plane landed. She sat on the aisle seat, I closer to the window.

We shook hands, almost hugged.

I was tempted to ask her phone number.

Didn’t do it, obviously.

She stood up, said goodbyes and left.

I remained seated for a while. Stood up, took my belongings, went out.

Saw her at the terminal.

Did I just tap her shoulder and say “hi, I’d like to know you better”?

No, obviously not.

Stupid of me?

Stupid of me.

Now, looking back to that moment…
… I can only say that one gets what one deserves.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Stupid is what stupid does.

Cruising (Round and Round Goes the Memory Train)

Memories are funny sometimes.

This time the latest memory appeared after a really, really shitty week when I was cruising at the Baltic Sea with a friend of mine.
Nice cruise, nice time in Stockholm, nothing really to report.

Nothing, really.

Which is sort of bad. Or at least quite boring.

And after all the shit I’ ve gone through during the last years it would’ve been time for something to write about.

It wasn’t.

Too bad.

Well, life is like that sometimes.

Anyhoo, cruising and Baltic Sea.

It was years and years ago.

I got this free Cruise from work, wanted to take Miss M with me and have some fun. We agreed on the date, took off with the train. Have actually no memories about the trip to boat nor from the trip back – perhaps nothing happened?

She was on antibiotics then, so no drinking for miss M. And as I was appointed as the gentleman of the year, no drinking for me neither.

And what the hell do you do on a cruise at Baltic Sea if can’t drink and haven’t got that much money?

Well, walk around the boat, obviously. Have romantic moments at the deck, looking at the stars and the moon (and so on). Get cold doing that, head back in.

Go to your cabin, strip the blankets from the beds and put them on the floor (beds are quite narrow). Take the mattress, too, as the floor is quite hard.

Take off some clothes.

Take off some more clothes.

Do some fun stuff for each other until you can’t do it anymore. Rest for a while.

Then do it again.

And when the sun rises above Tallinn harbour?

Push her breasts on the cabin window and make passionate love, watching the sun rise.

Why yes, you can sleep when you’re at home.

Good times, good memories.

Alas, It seems my memories are the only thing I have nowadays.

No Player of Mine?

Hmm, I ranted here some time ago about playing and players.

Well, it’s apparent she’s not playing although it’s hard for me to understand.

We’ll see.

Something Completely Different.

No fancy stories about ladies, no eye contacts, no happiness.

Just plain old ranting.

Fuck.

No fucking.

Just fuck.

Here I am, sitting in my own living room. Pretty pleased with the room, though.

My first “own apartment” in about 8 years. No-one saying how to furnish or when. No-one stating there needs to be green, brown or some other colour I don’t like. No-one saying that Tiffany lamps are waaay better than globes.

Fuck.

Still not satisfied.

There’s too much something and not enough everything in my life.

Too much work.
Too much duties.

Not enough good times.
Not enough love.

Fuck.

Random musing: there were two movies on the telly. First was a romantic comedy, the other was “Independence Day”.

Which one did I choose?

Well yeah, what do you think, my nonexistent reader?

Don’t get me wrong, I like romantic comedies. Really, I do.
I like them so much that at least Miss M, Miss Cherry and Miss Red have had some serious good laughs.

But yeah, I didn’t choose it this time.

Or actually did, for a while.

And what good did it do to me?

Nothing.

Just left me gloomy.

Fuck.

“Cause if it’s coming for you
Then it’s coming for me
But I will be there
Cause we need each other in the dark
And if it’s panicking you
Then it’s panicking me
But I will be there
So we’ve got each other in the dark

In the dark
In the dark
We’ll need each other in the dark

In the dark
In the dark
We’ll hold each other in the dark

Now we’re saved together in the dark
Cause we’ve got each other in the dark”

– DJ Tiesto: In The Dark

Me, yes.
You?
No.

There’s no you.

Bah.

Gloomy.

Gloomy as hell.

Perhaps this is one of those moments they write about.

One of those clear moments where one learns something and becomes a better person.

Or maybe not.

Remember, my reader, what doesn’t kill you hurts like hell.

Why all this?

It’s been two years to date today (yesterday?) since we moved apart with Miss S.

Yes, I do think it was the only proper way out of that particular hell.

Yes, it’s been better since.

Yes, I’ve had my smallish share of “it’s complicated” during these two years.

Still.

As I sit here, alone, in my proper-sized apartment littered with toys and “design furniture” from Ikea I can truly say I need something else, too.

I need someone.
Someone to talk to.
Someone to share my joys and griefs.
Someone to tell me I’m going too fast, slow down.
Someone to love.
Someone to share my life.

Bah.

Random Memories (or how I met Miss Red).

Long time no new characters in my larger than life writings, eh?

Some random musings, yeah. Random things, random persons.

Time to introduce a new character; Miss Red.

I met her a few years ago.

Had just broken up with miss S, for good. Was really, really angry at her.  Perhaps a bit afraid. Confused.

Anyway, was the annual time for Ice hockey world championships. I usually watch some of the games at some local bar.

Did that this time, too. Finland was playing against Sweden for bronze.

Went to this overcrowded pub with my friend, found a spot for the two of us at front row, just in front of the screen.

Ordered some beer, watched the game. My mate chatted with this girl sitting behind us at the same table. Didn’t pay that much attention, watched the game.

Ordered some cherry beer, she wanted to taste it, liked the taste. I did, too.

This time Finland didn’t let me down; they finally won. Made the fiasco from last olympic games a bit easier burden to carry.

After the game we all felt elated – great game, great result, good company.
I felt happy which I hadn’t then felt for a while.

Chatted with Miss Red, my mate and some other guy sitting at the table. Bar closed, someone suggested we should go somewhere else to have some more beer. I agreed.

Next bar was quite close, Miss Red was with us. Sat with her at the same sofa. Chatted about this and that. Was nice.

Eventually that bar closed, too. My mate went home, I went to yet another bar with Miss Red. Then what?

We held hands (sic), kissed.

And yes, that bar closed, too.

She lived at the same direction as I so we walked. Kissed on the way. I borrowed my mittens because it was a bit cold (“they look like small teddy bears!“).

Came to big crossing, her place was at that direction and my place there. Said that I wanted her to come with me. Said also that it should be her decision (what a bastard I am?).

Well, she thought for a while and came with me, just for tea, of course.

At my place I made some tea. We drank the tea, kissed, talked. She insisted on becoming my Facebook buddy and why yes, that’s what she is, nowadays too.

Anyway, it was really late (or early?).

So we went to bed, fucked. Was nice.

Slept together, curled in my narrow bed.

Had to get up really early in the morning for some babysitting. She wanted to sleep and stayed.
We kissed goodbye at seven o’clock.

That was the first encounter.

And now, my dear non-existing readers, you know Miss Red, too. And as for you dear Red (if you’re still reading this blog), those were good times. Sometimes I still wonder could they go on…

Answer?

Yes, yes. I know.

Draw Your Pain Away.

This has a been a busy year.

Busy year in private life, busy year at work.

Not so busy year in private life in that particular sense, mind you.

What did it contain?

Grief.
Joy.
Work.

Grief postponed from previous years, only managed now.

Joy. Not as much as I would’ve liked, but still. Joy.

Work. Too fucking much work. No more about that.

Pain.

Physical pain. Emotional pain. Both at the same time.
You name it, I had it. (Or at least have had it at some point of my life.)

Pain is a wonderful thing, gives one perception.

Teaches things.

Makes one stronger.

And hey, whatever doesn’t kill you, hurts like hell.

Now, drawing and pain, such a nice combination.

And music, too.

Now, I’ve been using drawing/painting/doodling for ages to relieve my pain. Above picture I painted when I was with miss Cherry (crayons on paper with photoshop).

It was this one morning at summer, I woke up at seven something, looked at my phone, saw that my dad had phoned in  earlier. Hadn’t heard it. Called him.

Got an answer (“I have some bad news”).

Heard what he said. Perhaps grasped it, perhaps not.

Ended the call.

Sat on the floor.

Fetched my drawing kit.

Turned out a blank page, started drawing with crayons. Cat walked by. Miss Cherry woke up, asked what was the matter.

Everything, that’s what it was.

She held me for a while. I drew.

Only dark colours, only in the shape of an eye.

I drew. Pain poured on the paper.

Pain dwelt in me.

I cried. I drew.

Having done that for hour or so – went to shower and work. That’s that.

No, the pain didn’t leave me.
Still it was numbed.

I got by till the hospital. Was not nice.
Managed.

What more did I draw that bittersweet summer?

Picture above started as pencil drawing, Ms Cherry wasn’t too pleased with me drawing pictures like this. Perhaps for a good reason.

Anyhoo, I used to draw these when she was sleeping and I couldn’t (sleep). Hid the pictures before I went to bed.

What an asshole was I then, too.

Perhaps I should’ve dealt with the matters then and especially with her. Or actually no perhaps.

But I didn’t. Too much of a shock. Not enough energy.

Too young.

Too stupid.

But hey, at least I drew some of the pain away.

To Play Or Not to Play

Will I play?

Is she playing?

Do I want to play this game?

Is she actually playing or is she only herself?

Will I play?

… and if I play – what if she doesn’t play?

What if she plays – and I don’t?

Is it worth it?

Don’t know.
Perhaps.

Don’t know.

And know what?
Neither do you, my (imaginary) reader.

“The day we stop looking, is the day we die.”
Al Pacino as Frank Slade in “Scent of A Woman”

Lost Finn Presents: Presents.

(Pardon my gag, just had to do it.)

Presents, gifts.

Christmas gifts.

A gift?
“Something voluntarily transferred by one person to another without compensation” (Definition by Merriam-Webster)

Voluntarily?
Without compensation?

Hmm.

Presents, yeah, presents.

I’ve received (and given, too) my share of presents. Some of them really nice, some of them not so.
Some of them received with gratitude, some with not-so-great enthuasism.

I still have mixed feelings about the presents we gave each other, me and Miss Cherry, when we had dated for a year.

She gave me a bag. Liked it. Used it for years.
She gave me a shirt. Liked it. Used it for years.
She gave me a white v-necked pullover. Never liked it. Never used it. Still have it, though (writing this I realize I’ll dump it in trash shortly having pushed the “publish”-button)

I gave her a necklace.
Was (by my standards at that time) really expensive. Spent quite lot of time selecting it. Several days as I recall. I liked it, thought she would, too.
I gave her a necklace. She didn’t like it. Don’t know if she ever liked it. Doubt it.
Did I do a mistake?

Certainly.

Necklace was of silver. She didn’t like silver ’cause she thought it doesn’t suit her. (Sod it, I still think it really suits her.). Should’ve been of gold.

Oh well.

Yesterday someone asked which gift would I fancy.
Why?
I felt down, she wanted to cheer me up. (Side note: thanks! Really cheered me up!;))

Good question, indeed.

What would I fancy?

Don’t know.

And as I don’t know, I’ll just share one gift with you.

It was a small package, wrapped in red Christmas paper.
Received it well before Christmas as we then spent the holidays with our own families. It was given with a wolfish grin (“don’t open it with your family, wink wink“).

Opened it just after Christmas when I headed back home.

Inside was a film roll.

I just stared at it for a while. Then started laughing.

Only a film roll and so much more.

I think I still have the pictures somewhere.
Does she know I have them?
Certainly.

Does she remember?
Don’t know.

Do I care?
Certainly not.

Mr Fish Attends Several Social Situations

Yours truly, let’s just call me Mr Fish (to benefit someone), attended some social situations during a period of time.

It doesn’t really matter what the period is. Could’ve been ten years, could be five years, could be something else. Doesn’t really matter.

Really, doesn’t matter.

Then:

She asked me to come to her room, can’t actually remember why. Had been chatting, had we gone somewhere with others or what had we done, I don’t know. Just something. She asked me to apply some lotion I had to her sore shoulders. I said yes.

She took off her shirt, laid down on bed. Unsnap her bra, didn’t say anything special.

What did I do? Took few breaths of air, applied the lotion. That was it.

Stupid of me? Hmm.

She? She seemed a bit disappointed, hooked the bra up, put the shirt back on. Thanked me. Lotion helped, not that sore muscles anymore, I hope.

Now(ish):

Some other social situation. We meet by chance, should perhaps buy a lottery ticket as the odds of us seeing were not that great. We’re friends, of course? Chat this and that, about our relationships, men and women. Ask her about her relationships (as that is what we perhaps most often speak about):
“Well, nothing special or serious. Can have what I want when I want. Have to push the ugly guys away… Just waiting for you.”

Errm, what? Waiting for me?

Now, I know something about her, almost wish to say I know her. Almost, not quite.

Was she feeding me some good old BS? Mostly yes, I think.

For a small part?

Who knows.

I don’t

Who cares?

I do.

Mr Fish ends his short transmission.