K-Blog

I stepped outside in the early morning. The tiles of the terrace cool under my bare feet. The grass was yet moist, the lake was sparkling in the sun, birds were singing and the insects were buzzing. The light was bright, but yellow, the sky was blue as it gets only in Denmark. The early morning light, the promising warmth in the air, a fresh breeze caressing my legs. Scent of the coffee my mum brought to wake me up, and of fresh bread. The little table already set with butter and cheese, bees already buzzing busily around the marmalade. Coming home from Italy after spending 15 years there, still takes me by surprise. Sometimes I feel like I'll never get used to it all, and that I will always be Italian inside. I still talk too loud when I get excited or passionate about something, and I still use my hands a lot while talking. I also expect people to understand my sign-language and often will try to explain what I am saying. Those are moments when I feel like a stranger in a fore

"So. K. You are sitting there all quietly in your corner. That's what you are, yeah ? Very quiet and zen-like, is it ?" I swallowed the last of my champagne to answer (choking) "Well, no, not really. I am not zen-like at all. You totally misread me there." She was very loud. And ugly, too. Unpleasant, really. She had thrust out her hand, presenting herself as "A" and from the way my boss greeted her, I just knew she was *the* A I had heard so much about. The girl who worked this restaurant before I did. The one that could sell basically everything. Before I could say anything else, my boss broke in "Come on, you're kidding ? You're zen as hell, K. Everything's fine with you, you're large, you take everybody the way they are, not much fuss with you, that's why you're so good for this place." I wondered. I am anything *but* zen. I tried to explain that I feel strongly about things but this is work; you have to be

- when your collegues greet you "Hi summergoddess!" for just wearing a dress to work - when a squiffy male guest approaches the bar and all of a sudden there's 3 waiters behind you, asking pointedly how they may help? - when the cook hang out long after he's off-duty, to ensure you're going home safe and done closing the restaurant. - when your collegues take over responsability of the winecellar because the 7 male guests there got drunk and too-bold (on expensive wine that *you* sold them), and you ought not to "hang 'round these people anymore". While I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I absolutely love to feel protected like that. I adore my collegues.

I ask myself what was so different yesterday. He. Was. All. Over. Me. I think I know but I almost can't bear if this whole thing turns out to be so clichè, if normal laws somehow actually applies to this thing. And at the same time a part of me says "of course normal laws apply. He's a man and you're a woman for Pete's sake." I kept my distance yesterday. Not coolly, I just did pretty much my thing. Arrived late for the meeting at CC (kept him waiting) and didn't try to kiss him, didn't let the awkwardness of "should we kiss or not" hang. I just reached out, decidedly and hugged him. They were doing a coffee-tasting there, and I got interested, asking questions (to which he listened in, while sidling closer) and chatting to the very passionate guy there. I was very much me; not afraid to ask, hungry for knowledge. We got our coffees and went off, chatting idly about this and that. I felt very beautiful; I had let my hair hang (because he

She was standing at the entrance to the restaurant-kitchen. Blond, pretty-ish, drunk and out-of-bounds; our guests aren't allowed in the kitchen. Tall, hot waiter approaches her from behind, and says (icily): "What can I do for you?" She replies, without turning around "Oh, nothing..." - then turns to find he's hot and changes her mind: "Erhm, I don't know. What *can* you do?"

".... small, fat and dark. Olive skin and black eyes. She would have big breasts and a huge bottom. She would laugh way too loud and be pretty vulgar, breasts wobbling while she was laughing. She would swear a lot and speak her mind. Wear vivid colours, big flowing dresses, and be far too honest. But you would have to love her." I absolutely love it when people I like, play along on my beloved "If this wine was a guy/gal, he/she would be..."-game.

We had to get used to each other, it was a bit like dancing for a little while. Treading lightly, measuring my every move, getting used to the physical part of it; us responding to each others' movement. My hands clenching too hard, then relaxing, my thighs flexing, then finding the perfect rhythm, moving just so. Swaying this way, then that. After a while, I let go of myself, in total abandon. I could barely breathe, my heart was racing and I was gasping for air; it felt like we had become one. I could smell my own perspiration, feel small beads of sweat form on my upperlip and drops of it trickle down my spine. I felt like I could do it no more, like I was going to collapse in a sweaty heap, but I kept going, moving steadily, rhythmically, while my head was spinning and thoughts dissolving, blown away to who knows where. I think I am in love. With my new old bike.

The question I am not posting to blogland right now: If I am jealous of him already, am I in over my head ? I am. All of a sudden I read things into his blog-comment exchange with mesmerizing her; I ask myself whether he admire her, whether he (secretly or not-so-secretly) wants her and whether there's sexual attraction between them. Fuck. Yeah. I am in over my head. I am struggling to put into words (hell, thoughts) what I am living with him these days. I can see no longer than to my immediate attraction to him. This is not entirely true (because I realize I am very attentive to him and all *his* attentions) but the body-to-body-communication we're having is blinding me and I can really think of not much else. And I am afraid. Afraid that he is blinded too; that he is seeing me as only heavenly sex; (and I can't really blame him it it was so) it *is* heavenly sex, but he is oil to my waters, he is balm to my soul; soothing me, making me feel so... right. It feels

I am keeping up my laid-backness these days. Proudly but wondering when it's gonna end. I can get absolute