Affirmation

"What did you do today, Sati?"

"I made five people feel loved."

The family can bitch. Let them. What I do, at work and at home, matters.

Accents

Lulu wrote a post about accents recently - let's make sexy talk, part II - and in true Sati-style, I wrote an essay as a reply. So much so, that I decided perhaps I should post it here.

It's not as organized as my usual blog posts, but oh well. As stoned out of my skull as I am right now - three different painkillers, two different antibiotics - we're all lucky that I can put one letter in front of another.

I said:
Bite your tongue my Lady! British is not an accent, any more than American is. If you met me and Kidfos, you'd swear we were from opposite ends of the world.

I could go on forever about accents. I love them. I love learning them, too. I have a pretty good ear (and mouth?) for accents, and if I'm fairly well-acquainted with the area they come from (obviously I can't do it if I have no prior knowledge) I can often pinpoint, with quite good accuracy, where they come from. I was with a South African guy a few weeks ago who was amazed because not only did I recognize him as being South African, I also recognized that he was raised in the Jo'burg area - even though he lived in Cape Town - because his AH sounds were broader than most Cape Towners. Also, after spending an hour or so in someone's company I can usually pick up their pattern of speech.

Can't do it all the time, of course.

I love all white South African accents, and most Black South African accents too - although I find the tribal ones a little hard to understand sometimes. Probably the Port Elizabeth area is my favorite, it's very gentle and sounds really friendly at the same time as sounding like the guy's undressing you with his voice.

I had a Ghanaian boyfriend with a gorgeous accent, and another whose accent I didn't like. Likewise, I had a Nigerian boyfriend whose voice made me instantly wet, and a one-night-stand whose voice did nothing for me. I don't know enough about either country to be able to tell whether this is regional or just unique to each man.

I like all Spanish accents, although they can be quite different. Central and Southern Spanish is the most romantic-sounding, and the closest to "true" Spanish. Catalunyan (the area around Barcelona) accents are quite broad and sibilant; the Catalan language is probably closer to Portugese than Spanish, and the accents when they're speaking English reflect this. Northern - the Basque territory - accents are much more staccato, a little harsher and choppier. Still sexy though, if not quite as much as the Southern ones.

Likewise, I like Central and South American accents, although I don't know enough about them to distinguish more than the basics. Like, I can tell the difference between Mexican and Nicaraguan, or between Cuban and Peruvian, but not much more than that.

Russian accents are hit-or-miss for me - if they're on a handsome man or beautiful woman they're divine, but if they're on someone I'm not atttracted to I find them hard to understand and just faintly disturbing. Yeah, I'm shallow, what of it? *sticks tongue out* And I know NOTHING about Russia - I can't tell the difference between a Moscow and a St. Petersburg accent, although I imagine I could if I actually spent some time around the people. (I only know one Russian person, and I don't remember where she's from.)

I love everything Japanese - big surprise there - but I find the far North and far South accents a little hard to understand, at least when they're talking in Japanese. I've never heard a Southerner (I mean south like Okinawa, not south like Tokyo) speak English, but the first Japanese person I knew was a half-Ainu northerner, and his English was really easy to understand. I can't comment on whether it was sexy or not, I think I was three.

The first guy I loved was Australian - from far north Queensland - and he had the sexiest accent EVER. I loved the way he said my name...sort of like SAA-dee. (Should be SAH-tee.)

Cajun accents make me hotter than just about anything I can think of. I have a friend from Louisiana who likes to teach me how to cook, and every time I try I have to be careful not to drool into the roux. I like Creole, too, although I haven't met so many of them.

I like the Luso accents you find amongst a lot of the Maine fishermen of Portuguese or Azorean descent. Even when they're on an old grizzled guy, they're still hot if I close my eyes. *grins*

Boston accents make me giggle a bit (sorry Molly), especially when they're on men, but they also make me inexplicably happy. I suppose because through most of my childhood, till I got sick, I always figured I'd end up at Harvard, and it still kind of feels like home.

The honeyed drawl that you sometimes find in the Carolinas makes my panties wet. I don't always go for Southern accents, but I like the lightness of the NC / SC ones.

My Mom has a Minnesota accent, although it's tapered off over the years - I think I retain more of it than she does, actually - and I really like that. I like the borderline Canadian-American accents a lot. Actually, her accent sounds a bit Alaskan - I guess they share some qualities. I hate to say it (like, I really REALLY hate to say it) but I like Sarah Palin's accent, it makes me smile and think of my Mom, the way she was when I was a kid.

I met a Navajo guy from NM last week, and for the last week I've gone to sleep thinking about his voice. Divine.

My own? Well, Brits pick up on the American in it, although none but the linguists can ascertain which part of America. Americans hear the British. I'd call it Home Counties with a dash of Minnesota, but then I'm like tofu - I pick up the flavor of whatever I'm around. If I spend a few days at work, and stay in London, then it's pure East London, almost cockney. If I visit rich friends in the country, I get that very proper, posh accent - I don't think it really has a name, but I always think of it as British Aristocracy - that sounds like I should be playing on a polo field. Of course, then I have to go back to work, immediately throw myself into talking street, and never EVER let on that I know what a chukka is.



If you're really interested, I have videos on the face place. Most of them are upside-down though, I can't always figure out the right way to hold the camera.

Enough detail for you, oh Goddess of Order and Indexing?

(I think I'd better pimp this on my blog, it's certainly long enough for an entire post.)
So I ask the same question - what do you find sexy, accent-wise?

Oh, and the videos - yeah, they're just random ramblings of mine, usually sleep-deprived ones. Nothing sexy, but you can hear my voice. I was going to put some up on here, but then I'd have a bunch of jackasses asking me why I'm wasting space for things that aren't sex-related, and I can't make them friends-only because most of the people I interact with here aren't on my friends list. Dagnabbit people, if we talk on a regular basis, or even a semi-regular basis, and if you're a frequent commenter here, then add me to your list! I can't add, I don't have the shiny balls. I'd like to be able to make friends-only posts sometimes.

Half-Nekkid Wednesdays - Week 1 - White Corset

WARNING: This post contains lingerie pics that some readers may find offensive.

Everyone's dear friend BlackHeatLust set up this lovely game here - Half-Nekkid Wednesday: The Body Is such A Beautiful Thing!!!! - and I've been greatly enjoying everyone's submissions. So much so that I decided to play today.

I'm not sure I got all the rules right though.

Happy Wednesday!

Ask Sati Anything! Roll Up, Roll Up, One-Time Offer...

The kidney infection seems to have mostly gone, but I have a really nasty case of trigeminal neuralgia. Also an impacted wisdom tooth that seems to have gotten infected. Between the two of them, this is agony that I've only felt when I've had the ear infections.

So I'm totally hopped up on pain meds, which are only making a few dents in the pain, but are making me act very, very drunk. I'm finding it hard to type this, in fact - every second word I have to go back and correct typos.

I have NO barriers right now. So go ahead, ask me anything. Anything you ever wanted to know but didn't feel like you could ask. Anything I haven't covered in a blog post. Anything at all. This is your chance to get total candor on any subject, even the ones that would normally make me blush.

It's a one-time only offer, ladies and gents. Or even sluts and pervs.

OK, I lie. Maybe it's not a one-time only offer. Maybe I'll make this a sticky post - a couple of my friends have them, and I think they're fun.

I shall respond between bouts of wailing and periods of knocked-out sleep.

Kisses.

England Is Still Here...I Repeat, England Is Still Here

Full of alien creatures whose behaviors I cannot understand, but still here.

Although the last few weeks have been strange enough for me to wonder if something's up with those prophecies after all. ;)

Signs that the world may be coming to an end:

1 ) I actually bought something in Primark. This only happens once in a blue moon, since I don't really like Primark. I'm more of a Jane Norman / Calvin Klein / Tommy Hilfiger person - or at least a New Look / H&M person - but I couldn't resist £9, 100% cotton sundresses. You know how hard it is to find 100% cotton anything?

2 ) After many years of running small, Primark's sizes now run big, and the size 16 dresses - US 12 - are considerably too large. I should have bought the 14s, but they were too small up top. I guess not everything changes.

3 ) I've been ordering new dishes from the Indian takeaway. Normally I am not inventive when it comes to restaurant food - home cooking, sure, but I eat out (or takeaway) seldom enough that I usually stick to things I know that I like, and am not allergic to. But I missed the college days when Sanjeeta and Ivy and I would go to new places all the time, so I experimented. And it was good.

4 ) I found a gorgeous pair of cream satin pointy-toed shoes...and THEY WERE IN MY SIZE. I'm always finding and coveting shoes like this, and they're always a size 4, whereas I wear a 7-8 in heels.

The Date That Didn't Happen

I promised to tell you what happened, yes?

Well, the short answer is, nothing. We'd arranged for him to come and visit sometime in the late morning, after a music rehearsal and before he had to go to work at 4. He texted me at about 2, saying that his rehearsal ran over and he wouldn't be able to make it, as it took about an hour to get here on the bus (buses in this town are ridiculous; even though he lives at the uni in the next town over, less than 10 miles away, when we were doing the Japanese it took me an hour and a half each way) and as soon as he got here he'd have to turn around and go home.

Fair enough, I said. You're busy, you're working two jobs and going to school full time. I figured he'd text me later, since a couple hours before he'd been saying I should message him anytime and he'd always reply.

And then in the afternoon he either blocked me from his faceplace profile, or he deleted it. Because I can't find it, and he's disappeared from my friends list. And when I texted him asking if he was OK, and mentioning that his profile had disappeared, he didn't reply.

*sigh* People are strange.

My best guess is that he's feeling embarrassed with me, even though he told me emphatically - both the night before last, and several times before - that he doesn't ever get embarrassed about speaking his mind, and that once he comes to trust a person he always says what he feels. I believe him, too - I haven't met many people in my life who can say that they never lie about their thoughts and emotions, but he's one of them. Although he was reserved when I first met him, and had walls that I wondered if I would ever be able to scale, since we became good friends he's never hidden any of his feelings from me that I can tell, even the darkest and most painful ones. And I've never once known him to tell a lie, either. If he doesn't want to talk about something he says he doesn't want to talk about it - he did that a few times, back when I was first getting to know him - but he doesn't lie.

I've kind of taken a vow to treat him the same way, and never lie to him. This won't be easy for me, since I have a habit of - well, not lying exactly, but evading, and occasionally misleading, and not disclosing the whole truth, in order to try and spare a loved one's feelings. But my instincts tell me strongly that he is a rare person, one of the few left with a totally open heart - an innocent, if you like - and that total honesty is the only possible way to make this thing work. Whatever this thing is. I don't yet know what it is - first and foremost he's my dear friend, and I want him to always be my dear friend. Would there ever be anything more? Only time will tell.

And no, I don't feel that he's being dishonest with me by avoiding me, or by telling me he never gets embarrassed. There's a first time for everything, after all.

Chances are we'll talk again soon. I hope. Whatever happens, we'll work it out.

I do miss him, though. Already.

9am Is Not A Myth

[K did not come to visit, and never spoke to me again after this point, with no explanation given. And my world went dark, and still hasn't quite lightened up again yet.]

Oh yes, my lambkins. It's not just something that's made up to scare people. I'm sure I knew this once upon a time, but I think I buried all memories of this ungodly hour along with other traumatic experiences of high school.

Of course, I was up till 6.30. Night shifts and all.

Why am I up, you ask? Well, my plans for the day involve meeting up with Kurisu-san, who I still have just a teensy weensy crush on (um, OK, a crush the size of Jupiter) and hanging out, catching up, and somewhere along the line convincing him that he doesn't really want to sleep with me, he needs to try and work things out with the girlfriend he still loves, or at the very least sit down with her and have an honest talk about why they're having problems.

Why am I doing this? You know, I've been asking myself that for awhile and although I've come up with half a dozen answers, I don't have one that's completely satisfying. I'm doing it because people need to communicate in relationships, and when you love someone you don't throw aside what you have when it gets hard, until you've at least made a decent effort to talk it through and try and come to a solution, or at least an understanding of how you both feel. I'm doing it because he's young, and lacking in self-confidence, and he doesn't understand that there are a hundred reasons why a woman might not seem like herself for awhile, and most of them don't have anything to do with whether you're still attractive or not. I'm doing it because he's a close friend, and I love him dearly and I want to see him happy. And because love should be fought for.

Never mind that last night he seemed very flirty and very interested in me. Never mind that I still respond to him emotionally, and that even though our conversation wasn't particularly risque, the thought that he finds me attractive was a huge shock and a huge turn-on.

Fuck. Why am I doing this?

Oh yes, because I'm Bambi. I'm all moral and shit like that.

Even though I haven't had sex in months. And even though I know instinctively that sex with K would be something on a whole new level to anything I've experienced up to this point.

Rargh.

Karma. Focus on the karma, and the potential disaster of hooking up with a friend because he's in a bad place emotionally. Not a good situation.

Focus. Be a friend. He needs a friend more than he needs a hormone-riddled booty call.

I'll catch you up on how it goes later. For now you can go and read more about K if you want:

(In chronological order, earliest to latest: )

[None of these links work on here. I'll try and put in ones to the posts on this site soon.]

On Euphony And Dissonance, OR Why Kidfos Needs A Spanking

Kidfos is so gonna get his ass kicked!

Anyone who's been reading me more than a couple months - which I think is most of you; I haven't gained many new watchers lately - know that The Kid took over my blog awhile back, when I got cut off the internet. Much mayhem occurred, resulting in me nearly getting kicked off the site, Kid getting warned to stop fucking with guys on IM, and a couple of people stopping watching my blog.

In hindsight, when he told me he signed me up for a bunch of groups, I should have considered the possibility that he was telling the truth. However, we all know I'm a bit naive (<-- did I spell that right? For some reason my spelling's been off for a couple of days; I'm forgetting words that I've known perfectly well for most of my life) and I thought he was just joking. I never go on the groups page, and I only check out my main profile page when I've changed something. So it wasn't until last night that I actually saw them on my profile.

Apparently for the last month or two, Sati has been a member of "Girls Watching Guys On Cam" and "WhiteWomenWhoCraveBlackMen".

Of course, I immediately picked up my phone and yelled at him. "KIDFOS, YOU S.O.B., get your ass on here and explain!" Well, no, I didn't say that, quite. It was four in the morning, and I have enough problems with sleeping that I try not to disturb others when they're getting their shut-eye. But I did text him, and then spent the next half hour holding my head in my hands and calling him a fucktard.

Now I'm trying to figure out why I'm embarrassed by this, when there should be nothing embarrassing about it. I don't actually cam with guys, but if I did, so what? As for the other - yeah, I like Black guys. I like white guys too, and Asian guys, and Hispanics and Native Americans - not that we get a whole lot of those last two around here. None of my dating habits have ever been a secret, not since I started dating properly when I was 17. That's part of living in London. With the exception of a handful of religious and cultural groups, in London nobody bats an eyelid when it comes to dating different races. When I'm dating Americans, or people from outside the South East of England, the subject of race comes up quite a bit, particularly when they're a different race to me. I'll meet a (non-white) guy who's not a Londoner, and if we're interested in each other, I can guarantee that during that first conversation he'll ask me if I've ever been with a Black (or Asian, or Middle Eastern etc) guy. And we'll talk about things, and ascertain that neither of us has a problem with it. By contrast, London guys never ask me this, because it simply does not occur to them that it COULD be a problem.

But I digress. I was talking about the embarrassment. Obviously it's not because I care about people finding out who I'm attracted to. Lord knows I talk enough about droolworthy men in various blogs of mine. I think the embarrassment that I felt - and still feel - is connected to the word CRAVE. I associate cravings with wickedness and sin. I crave Krispy Kremes. I crave a lazy afternoon on my bed with Beverly Barton romance books or Frank Downey erotica. I crave encounters in dark alleys with men who'll push me up against the wall and have their wicked way with me. All of those things, and anything else that I would use the word CRAVE for, are things that hold some element of naughtiness. I would never say that I craved cranberry juice, or the ocean, or sunshine, because none of those things have that darkness, that wickedness, that I always associate with the word.

Word choices can be funny things. I've always had a good head for words. Until my head injury, my mom used to laugh at me and call me her walking talking thesaurus, because I had such an extensive vocabularly - but it was more than that. I had an innate sense of how a word should be used. I guess this was partly some inherent quality, but also something that grew - unintentionally - as I grew, and read so many books. Mom found it amusing and charming, but PaPa really thought it was a gift, and tried hard to nurture it. I remember countless times in my childhood and teens, and even early twenties, when we'd play word games.

LIKE:
"Don't say weird, darling. You use weird too much. What are some other words for it?"

"Um, odd?"

"Good, what else?"

"Unusual. Unorthodox."

"And?"

"Strange, bizarre, kooky, outre, atypical."

"Carry on."

"Abnormal, aberrant. Uncommon. Unique. Wacky, crazy, eccentric. Quirky, offbeat, off-the-wall. Nonconformist. Idiosyncratic. Phantasmagorical."

...
And so it went.

Since the head injury I've been less skilled with words. I have many days now when I can't even put a coherent sentence together, let alone write something worth reading.

I'm digressing again. It happens, especially lately.

But word choices...those have always fascinated me. I love to write, even now when I'm not so good at it. I love just letting my thoughts flow from my brain to my hands, and knowing that the right words will come at the right time, knowing that I'll be able (I hope) to find the ones that will create maximum impact. And although it can be uncomfortable, I also love watching the discord that sometimes happens when the wrong choice is made, particularly when the word chosen is one that SHOULD be synonymous.

For example, I've always been particularly intrigued by the word erotic. Erotic, taken from Eros. Used to describe the tantalising aspects of sex. (That's my definition, btw - I'm sure any dictionary you find will have a better one.) Eros was an ancient god of love, as Venus was a goddess of love, so by all rights you should be able to substitute venereal for erotic in any given sentence - but you can't. It doesn't work. Something - perhaps the modern-day usage of venereal to describe sexually transmitted diseases, or perhaps some inherent dissonance in the word itself - prevents it from sounding right.

Likewise, the word CRAVE in the context that it's used here leaves me feeling strange. You could substitute LIKE, or LOVE, or even WANT, and I would not feel the embarrassment that I do. Belonging to a group called Women Who Love Black Men? Big whoop, so what? That doesn't bother me in the slightest.

Now the cam group...that's another matter entirely.

How about you guys? Got any examples of words that should fit a situation, but sound completely wrong? Or even any cravings you'd like to tell me about? *grins*

So, Um, Yeah...It's My Birthday...

And I had a WONDERFUL day.

Nothing too active, since I'm too darn sleepy. I spent the whole of last night in a miserable, wired-up state (it's that whole exhausted = doped up thing again) but by about 6am I felt OK. I texted Light Of My Life, who has his Organic Chem exam today, and wished him good luck. He was panicking a bit so I talked to him for a while, and tried to remind him that he's a smart, competent guy and there's no reason he shouldn't do well. Well, aside from the fact that he's spent most of his time this year working and trying to placate his gold-digger wife, but I didn't mention that. *rolls eyes*

(Can we pretend I didn't say that last sentence? Cheers.)

He asked me what I was planning to do today, so I jokingly told him, sit in the front garden in my blue bikini and worry about you. And then I sent him a picture (although not in the front garden, at 6am it was too cold to go out there) to which he replied, "Haha, lucky bikini!"

I have no idea if that means, "Oh, a lucky bikini, just like you have lucky earrings / socks / hair ornaments," or if it means, "Wow, lucky bikini to be covering your breasts." Knowing him, it could mean either, or both, and I didn't like to ask for clarification. It's not a great picture; I'm still at that phase of chubbiness where I don't look good unclothed unless I use weird angles. Oh well.

So I obliged, and lay in the sun for him while he was in his exam. And then I opened cards, and presents, and ate cake. God, I love birthday cake, even though I know that all that sugar gives me a stomachache. Tony and Debbie and Christie gave me this beautiful rustic wood sewing box, and Mom gave me TrueBlood seasons 1 and 2 - which I was overjoyed with - and some really lovely black and royal blue underwear, which I'll try and get a picture of later. I think it's going to be too small in the boobs, but oh well, they'll just have to spill over the top. I got a check from Papa and Stepmama, but of course I had to deposit that back in February when they sent it to me, or it'd be out of date by now.

I'm supposed to be going to dinner with Ma now, although my stomach has been acting up a little bit, and I'm not sure if I should put it off for a few days. I'll see how I am in a couple minutes.

And of course the party is on Sunday. I'm still a little nervous, but things seem to be coming together - Tony and Debbie are coming, and he said he'd try and bring the big BBQ round tomorrow so I don't have to go buy one, and Ma said she'd make a vegetable pancake bake and a potato salad and an apple cobbler, and I have affirmative responses from a handful of people, plus a couple nos (Ricky can't afford the train fare, Zia is visiting a cousin that week and Ellie, my best girlfriend, has to put her doggie down - very sad) plus one or two who aren't sure yet. Curt says definitely yes, although you can't ever be quite sure of him until the moment he turns up, so that'll be really nice; I haven't seen him in a couple months.

Yeah, I'm still worrying a bit, but I'm remembering to breathe.

So yeah, that's about it. It was a nice day, aside from the stomachaches. Although - the weather reports are now saying that Sunday we'll have rain. After I deliberately chose Sunday instead of Saturday because it was supposed to be the best weather of the week. Bastards.

(I'm not sure who are the bastards...the weather sprites, maybe?)

But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I wish you were going to be here, though.

Birthdays, Bitchiness And BBQs (Allowing For Weather)

[Looking at this a year on makes me cry. Gah.]

My other damn blog still hasn't set itself up, and I keep being lured back here.

The Man Who Is Not My Boyfriend (Cameron) and I had a fight the other night, or as much of a fight as we ever have. Our arguments always follow the same pattern: he (the calm, collected, logical, occasionally autocratic party) makes a statement that I (the emotional, instinctive, occasionally-prone-to-overreaction party) take offense to. We talk it out, him in a peaceful way, me with flying hand gestures and just a hint of a Spanish accent, and in the end he willingly apologizes for making a blanket statement and I grudgingly admit that there's more than a grain of truth in it.

So the other night he said to me, You treat your friends like children. And I put my hands on my hips and glared at him and said, I bloody well do not.

Yeah, he continued, you do. And they might have needed it ten years ago, but they don't need it now.

You- you- you CAD! I spluttered. (Note: he gets really annoyed at me when I use this term, because his initials are C.A.D. and he's hated them ever since he was a kid, but sometimes when I get riled up I forget that I'm not supposed to hit below the belt, and use it to try and force him to react with something other than amused detachment. I know I shouldn't, and yet I occasionally do.) That's a horrible thing to say!

Babe, I'm not trying to be horrible, he said. But you need to stop. You spend so much time looking after people who don't need to be looked after, you forget to take care of yourself. You're in your mid-twenties, and you're already going gray because you take everyone's stresses onto you.

(At this point I slapped his hand away from me. He knows how to hit below the belt, too. Mentioning my gray hair...dammit, that's just low.)

I don't have any control over what I feel, I reminded him. You knew that when you met me.

True enough, he told me, but you can control what you do. I'm not telling you that you need to stop giving people your time, but you do need to stop babying them. What were you saying a few months ago, when you were bitching about your family coddling you? Something about wondering why people think that occasional humiliations and hurt feelings are fatal?

(The nerve of him, using my own words against me. Asshole.)

To which I responded peevishly, Why the hell are you bringing this up NOW?

Because you're doing it again, dummy, he said. You're panicking over this whole birthday thing, and have been since you decided to have people over. You think that your groups of friends aren't going to mix well, and people are going to have arguments, and offend each other.

But- but- they WILL! I cried, getting quite emotional at this point. I know my friends! They're nice people, but they don't all know that about each other. They don't know that Christie is passionate and loyal, but has very strong convictions about everything, and will stick to them even when she's wrong. They don't know that B has such an open heart that she trusts too many people, and then when they let her down she sometimes holds it against people who remind her of them. They don't know that Sash has spent the majority of her life having to prove to men that she's just as good as they are, and sometimes assumes that she still has to to every man she meets. They don't know that Ricky says things that he doesn't really mean to get a laugh, because he still feels like the kid who thought his only good quality was the ability to amuse people with mocking. They don't know that Curt is so protective of me that he gets overzealous about defending me from perceived threats, and may go into attack mode when someone teases me.

So, logical as The Man is, he asked me, Well, what's the worst that can happen?

They can offend each other, I said, sticking out my bottom lip in a pout. They can hurt each others feelings. Someone will inadvertently say something racist or homophobic or misandric or otherwise stupid, and someone will be hurt and angry.

And? They're adults, they can handle it. If they hate each other, they don't ever have to see each other again, they're from all different parts of the country. If they offend each other, you just don't invite them all to the same party again. At this point, he sat down on the bed and stroked my hair. What are you really worried about, babe? he asked me.

I don't know...that they'll hold it against me, for putting them in a situation like that, and then they won't like me anymore.

The Man gave me a hug, and laughed a bit, so I socked him in the arm. Not hard though, since I wasn't really mad anymore. This is what I'm talking about, silly, he said. You treat them like they're still angst-ridden teenagers who are going to react like children. You got so excited when you joined that site of yours, and met Bubbles and the Kid, and AirForce, and diablophallus, and all the other people you haven't met in person yet, because they were these incredible people who behaved like mature adults. But you've been so caught up with that, and you've stayed away from friends for so long, only seeing them for an hour here and there, that you haven't realised that your outside friends are now grown-ups too. Remember what you were saying about Becki last time you went skating, how pleased you were at how confident she is now, both professionally and as a person? Remember how surprised you were when you and me and Dom went to that club in Mayfair, and he was talking about taking his counselling diploma, and you said you thought he wanted to be a professional footballer, and he laughed?

I nodded.

So what are you so worried about? You think your friends are going to hold it against you if something happens that they don't like? You need to give them more credit. They're your friends, after all. I doubt that you'd surround yourself with people who are vindictive and hold grudges.

So, well, that was that.

So here I am, throwing all - or most - of the panic aside, and saying, fuck it. I am having a birthday party this year - the first time I've looked forward to a birthday, and the first party of any sort that I've thrown in about eight years - and it's going to be fabulous. This year I'm only expecting eight or ten people; next year I shall open it up to my favorite British bloggers (and non-Brits who can get here). Assuming it goes well and I don't die of embarrassment. Ack.

I have a BBQ planned. Just a small one, here at my house. Hopefully my brother will actually call me back tonight (I left a message a few days ago) to tell me if he and his wife can make it, and whether I can borrow their big BBQ or whether I need to go buy a couple of small ones from Robert Dyas. I shall "volunteer" some nice man, probably my brother or Curt, to cook the meats, and busy myself making tuna pasta salad and potato salad and green salad and a ratatouille pancake bake, and trying my best to make a pavlova and a summer pudding before throwing my hands up in defeat and going to buy a Delia Smith one from Marks & Spencers. And I need to work out some music. Dammit, I don't have a stereo, I always use my iPhone. And I need chairs. And drinks. And...

What the hell have I got myself into? I know NOTHING about entertaining, I'm the kind of person who chucks a bunch of people in a room and tells them to have fun. That, or I can cater a sit-down dinner party, or at least I used to be able to when I was 15. I do NOT know how to have a casual party.

Breathe. It'll be fabulous. This is your first birthday, remember?

Gah.

Breathe.

I'm breathing.

Friends: think you might come next year?