20 July 2006

Sincerely, L.Cohen

Today, is my partner's birthday. He is now officially half-way to 40! Like Willie Nelson, he is on the road again. No birthday blowjob for him, nor cake - and I love to decorate me a mean cake. I am without cake and cock!

Regardless, I am enjoying the place to myself. I must admit the first couple of days, I may have overdid on the porn. When I get into something while I'm alone - be it smoking cigarettes or listening to a particular song or watching a dvd box set - I completely over-endulge. Perhaps, it's the mild obsessive/compulsive disorder that runs in my family.

The most interesting pieces of news have been freely flowing towards me. My favourite singer and poet, Leonard Cohen, has been spotted in my city. Not just once. I have heard this from tons of people. Even from people that I thought despised me - well, I'm only on their slight shit-list - wrote me to say that he is floating around town. I like this thought.

If you do not know me, you will shortly discover my tremendous love for this man. I love him. I love his voice. I love his words. I love his poetry. I love how he can put together a simple sentence. I bet he could casually say he was going to get some bread at the corner store and make it sound luscious and seductive, make my heart beat a little faster. I love this man. He has stuck by me since high school and watched me blossom into that complicated woman he wrote poems about. Okay, not really...haha. I only wish. Le sigh. I'm such a girl when it comes to him. I imagine myself walking down a snowy street on a winter evening, a scarf wrapped around my neck and wearing a classy peacoat. My red lipstick staining the end of my cigarette. And walking towards me is a man...that man is Leonard Cohen. He would say something simple to me. Maybe ask me to walk alongside him or to go for a quiet glass of red wine. And then we would fall in love and he would write songs about me and we'll live happily ever after.

*insert stupid smile here*

I must admit here that I don't particularly enjoy his newer stuff. The words are still powerful but the plethora of synth keyboards cheapen it, in my humble opinion. It was okay in the 80s but it's not acceptable in this day and age. I would like to see him do something like he did in the 60s - just him and a guitar or at least a string band. I think that could reach a whole new audience. And I also know that it's probably not normal for a 29 year old to have a crush on a 72 year old. Unless you are Anna Nicole Smith.

So Mr. Leonard Cohen is in town. Walking about. Enjoying the city. I am tempted to seek him out, as crazy at that sounds, just for a simple glance at this man I so admire. Of course, I am here at home. There's a very good reason for me being here.

Due to my own physical circumstances, I am positive that I would run into him. My first reason not to seek him out is because it is too hot. These past few days I have been heat stroke queezy. I sit still and I'm sweating like I ran 5o miles. The last thing I would want is to stand before L.Cohen and sweat. I wouldn't know what to say in the first place due to nervousness. And when I am nervous, I pick apart every single motion my body makes. That makes me break a little sweat which makes me pick apart why I am sweating. I have ruined perfectly fine conversations just by holding another one in my head, obsessing about the line of sweat on my brow. Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen, I'm ___ and I have a sweating problem.

The second reason is truly obvious. I have the biggest and reddest zit....on my fucking nose! Jesus Christ, it's awful. I know I don't have the best skin but I can deal with it. This is embarrassing. It's the brand of junior high embarrassment that is really hard to take! All of a sudden I feel fourteen again, for all the wrong reasons! Hi, Mr Leonard Cohen...I'd like to introduce you to my friend, the monsterous and reddest mountain of a zit. I literally look like I am growing a beak. It's on the bridge of my nose and accurately in the middle. It's bright red and I am a pale gal. Just a little higher up on my nose and I would like a bindi. The only good thing about it is if I do choose to go out - my dark framed glasses will hide it, to a certain degree.

My zit, I've called him Rudolph, and I will go on to finish this hot cup of coffee before conquering the day. Who knows, maybe one day soon I will be writing about my saucy love affair with a certain Leonard! (not Nimoy.)

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