Awakenings....

It's only taken me three years but I realised that I've been spelling my online name incorrectly. M-I-L-O-N-G-U-I-T-A not Milongita... This dire error has now been amended. Margarita Milonguita apologises for any inconvenience caused and to all porteños who may have endured my monginess for that time period.

Sorted?

It's just before 2am and just got home from a night at Tiki. Quiet but really really good. I was able to catch up with a few of the punters I really like and have a great catch up. David and Di had a gig out in Noble Park and they got back to the bar at around 11 ish. Most people left around midnight which just left David,Dianne,Steve,Trampy and moi chatting and having last drinks, with Chris ' raoahwwww' Issak crooning divinely in the background. It was nice to have that quiet time chatting and having a drink. Having a nice daiquiri and Red Stripe buzz as I type this. I love that place to bits. It is truly my home away from home. Well, it happened today. I have found my housemate. His name is Brett and I'm glad I found him. I don't want to talk to anymore people as it's giving me the shits. Let's hope he doesn't reneg! I don't think he will. He's had a good think and made a good decision. Here's to a new chapter in the Milongita's domestic life. It's already brilliant without Mr Grumpy around. I've been doing stuff like leaving my stockings and boots on the couch knowing that if he were here, it would drive him to mass murder if he were to witness such a thing. I'm doing it as a celebration. Rest assured, it's removed the following morning! I'm feeling great at the moment... or maybe it's just the daiquiri's talking... who cares? It's working. I'll take it.

Beginnings and Endings

What a difference a week makes. A week ago I posted how I was pulling arrows out of my chest. A week on, I feel completely fine about the whole stupid scenario. I realise now that I've slowly been getting over the whole thing but felt I should give it one last crack. Oh well, boo fucking hoo hey? My housemate has moved back to Perth to begin his new life working on a mine site somewhere in the boonies of WA. I'm currently enjoying the solitude of the house listening to the Ramones and leaving the house in an unholy wreck. Bliss. I've begun my search for the new housemate and it's been a little bit tricky. I picked someone and she's already renegged on me! It turns out that a girlfriend has broken up with her bloke and is looking for someone to share with which is the same scenario this girl is in so probably best they console one another. I only wanted her for her moggies anyway. I had psycho Indian guy stalking me for the room and I happily gave him the news that he will not be moving in. No fucking way mate. I've just spent the last 2 years minding my p's and q's and I don't wish to continue doing so. The guy I interviewed tonight seems to be the likely candidate. We clicked pretty well and appreciated my honesty in everything. He is 33 and quite frankly, a bit yummy! Maybe one of my other single dames could couple with him. Very knackered after a weekend of fan fucking tastic tango workshops. I loved the technique they teach- the milonguero style is the most perfect to me of all the dances within the tango. Signorita Margarita Milonguita learned some very slick and stylish moves. Can't wait to get out on the floor and practice them! Speaking of hitting the floor, our final song for the night last Friday was the 'Hawaii Five-O' theme. David and I starting doing this wild improv sixties type dance. MM thought she'd be slick and do fantastic run up with knee slide across the floor. Wood and nylon don't make a good combo which resulted in this wahine burning her patellas. Not stopping there, MM continued her wild improv dance and was doing well- I even had audience participation. I was going along a treat except for the fact that the heel caps on my tango shoes need replacing and slipped and hit the deck with a THUD. Being the seasoned professional mong that I am, I continued on and people thought I had meant that move. How cool is that? 3 days, 2 scabby knees and 1 sore arse later, I leave you with this tale of high energy dancing and dignity lost. Oh the humanity.

Ride With Me

Once upon a time, there lived in Indieville, a great little band named The Lemonheads. They had a cute singer named Evan Dando who wrote fabulous pop tunes and was very good at covering a few songs as well. Eventually he became a useless junkie and gave everyone the shits at gigs. That's about it. Okay that was a tad harsh of me I admit. I was reminded of Evan's musical beauty today when I was having one of my 'go to the back of the CD pile' moments and found an EP they recorded called 'Favourite Spanish Recipes'. It has a cover of 'Different Drum' and what has become my most favourite and loved Lemonheads song-Ride With Me. I listened to it 4 times in a row and absorbed it's magic. This song reminds me of a gig I went to at Gaslight Records (RIP) in 1993 and Evan did an instore appearance. I remember him performing this song-one of the few times I had heard it- and it still stands out (along with his cover of ABBA's 'Knowing Me,Knowing You-resplendant with a friend and I doing the 'A HA' bits in between). Here's the song. Read the words, feel the emotion. And hope Evan gets back on track. That pencil smell, reminds me of school The clock on the wall, I can no longer fool Time to get in my car Been so dull, tired and tight Time to trust these old tires Time to not say goodnight Jesus rides with me His will is plain to feel Come on, you can be Got yourself to steal He's everywhere, sends me straight across the plain He's in your hair, he'll forgive me my pain You're my girl don't you show it To know you know is to know it When you can't trust yourself Baby, trust someone else Jesus rides with me His will is plain to feel Come on, you can be Got yourself to steal You're my girl don't you show it To know you know is to know it When you can't trust yourself Baby, trust someone else Ride with me Ride with me Ride with me

Another Suitcase In Another Hall

Either I was born under a bad sign or I have and am never going to have – no luck in having a relationship with los hombres.

Last night, MM went out with the object of her desire. Admittedly, the girlish giddiness I initially felt had left the proverbial building but the interest or perhaps hope of things kicking off with him were still there. The night was going fabulously. He got to mine at around 6.30-ish and had a couple of brewskis before heading down to Quan 88 for some fabulous Vietnamese food. After chowing down on spring rolls, chilli squid and veg and bean curd with rice, we hailed a cab and headed for a night of salsa at the Night Cat with the fabulous latin band, Rumberos. We had time to have a good chat and get a couple of beers in before the band came on. MM was looking tres hot (may I say) in my saucy new red dress and fish nets and my ubiquitous red lippy. We made our move to the crowded floor and attempted some feeble yet effectual salsa moves and were really getting into it. After 3 or so songs, we admitted that the place was inundated with far too many 20 somethings and was too packed for us 40 somethings so we opted for quieter digs. I suggested Kanella bar down the road but were closing up when we got there so we crossed the road and ended up at the Spanish Bar. After grabbing a couple more beers, we moved into a booth and started chatting. In course of conversation, I asked him why his marriage had ended. I won’t publish it here as it’s highly personal. He then told me that he had a 5 year relationship with someone that didn’t end all that well but 2 weeks ago, she emailed him out of the blue. They caught up and…. now they’re back together!!

Jeezy creezy, how does that happen? When he uttered those words, I felt like it was happening to someone else. I just did the ‘oh wow’ and ‘oh, yes?’ etc etc and tried not to betray myself. I then started asking questions on the whole situation which gave me a deeper insight into him. I was concerned when he said he told her he had started doing tango in the last year and her response was ‘ Hmm I don’t know about that. Why don’t you choose another form of dance?” Thankfully his response was that he had no desire to do another form of dance. I then said in semi jest; “ We’ve just started our private lessons and she’s gonna take my dance partner away!’ in which he responded “ no that isn’t going to happen.” Good news for the MM. I’m wondering if any future scrag fights will ensue on the dance floor (cue Sophie Bexter Ellis).

 We left the old Spanish Club (read were kicked out) and came back here for a cuppa and some of the chocolates my mum had given me (word of advice: avoid Guylian’s version of Favourites like the plague- disgusting). After a chat and bagging out said chocolates, he got in his car and went home. I sparked up the laptop, got into my jim jams and started watching the copy of Evita my nephew had lent me that day. So far, not good. I couldn’t concentrate anyway. I had a slight constriction in my throat and the sensation of an arrow in my chest. As I watched Madonna, Antonio and the rest of the gang singing away, I kept repeating the mantra of ‘I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna cry’.

 Mercifully, I passed out at some stage and woke up with Madonna bleating out another song (oh yeah, musical- that singing shit never ends). I turned the blessed thing off and tried to slip back into unconsciousness but to no avail. I couldn’t get the fucking thoughts out of my head and the feelings of self doubt and being the old odd sock. I slipped in and out of sleep, heard the rubbish men as usual at around six, and had sleep of sorts till around 8. I pulled up the lap top and began writing this post as a word document (don’t have wireless yet and I’m still in bed) and decided ‘bugger it- I have to have that fucking cry.’ It wasn’t a big boo hoo hoo or a woe – is – me, more of a ‘here we go again’ but I realised as I let the emotion flow down my face, it wasn’t too bad. I’m in a better place than I was a year ago. These things happen as yard sticks and if I received this kind of news a year ago, I would have been totally gutted. I wouldn’t be writing this blog.

I guess I can take the clichéd positives from this situation. As a friend, he is a fabulous person. I now have a dance partner for my tango lessons so we can help one another perfect our technique of the dance we love so much. In reality, I don’t think we would work as a couple anyway but you can’t help being hopeful and I like that. It means you aren’t hardened or jaded. It means you still have passion for life and a need to reach forward for better things. It means you aren’t cynical and fatalistic about life. I love that I still feel hopeful even though most of my pursuits of coupling in the last few years have been paramount to a kick in the guts.

 And the best thing I’ve learnt is- I’m fabulous and I deserve to be loved.