CBMused

I slip my arms through the long coat and button all the way up to the collar. It feels heavy and warm on my frame. I tie a woollen scarf around my neck and get ready to go out. I sink my hands deep in the pockets. And I feel them. I trace the pad of my finger around their edge. I feel the corners. I hold them in my hands and squeeze.

And they take me back.

To that cold evening in the middle of winter, to the chic city pub where we all met and huddled, to the stories and laughter, to the beer and vodkas, to the smell of barbecue chicken on skewers, to the quiet affirmations, to the recent past when everyone had worked together.

An evening like many before it but unlike any other.

To walking around town looking for another venue. To letting the boys have their way in a private room, down a dark dingy place with sticky floors and a hose-down vinyl couch. To the dodgy drinks and deafening tunes over microphones that screeched. To the moment when it got way too loud and body language spoke.

And when the time was up, and the two token girls entwined arms with the merry boys, there were trains to catch and buses to ride. Long goodbyes were said as one quickly relieved himself on an old park tree. The collective thought of what an evening we just had echoed throughout time, an evening still fondly remembered by all.

I remove the cards from my pockets and take another look. Two complimentary passes to an upmarket strip bar with pole dancing where the boys didn’t want to go but the girls didn’t mind. It is time to leave. I put the cards back in my coat pockets. I walk out the door into the icy breeze, and smile.

Anyone who has perused this site’s archives would not miss the Martini references scattered throughout various posts, images, footer credits and now the new chic banner I have designed. Apart from my appreciation for the art of mixing a good Martini and partaking in this libation, it has somewhat become a celebratory ritual.

The Martini Life may have its roots in opulence, stylish fashions and a nostalgic bygone era triggering visions of elegantly dressed men and women imbibing or posing with the drink. Granted, there is an element of decadence when your freezer is replenished with Vodka and Gin, and olives and lemon twists have a ubiquitous place in your fridge. However, this new mantra by which I live is not a reflection of a decadent carefree lifestyle, but the reverse.

When focussed on a half full glass, we neither see above or below the line, nor do we move forward or in reverse. In making a good Martini, we measure the spirit level, carefully deciding how much an olive would contribute to filling a glass, or if a lemon zest provides the desired zing. With a shaken Martini, the focus is on the mix, not the level of the liquid. And when a toast is made, the first sip taken with eyes briefly closed, and the glow of the potion seeps through the mind and body, the ritual becomes a celebration of life itself.

Towards the end of last year, I was inspired by a friend’s new mantra on life. He began celebrating little achievements as and when they occur instead of waiting for the big picture. I decided to follow suit and started living the Martini Life.

Be it a celebration of a minor milestone, the completion of a tough task, finally redecorating that room or replacing that small appliance you have always put off, even a quiet little achievement in writing, they are all reasons that befit a Martini toast to celebrate the small things in life.

Just as mixing different types of spirits strengthens their alcoholic content, the celebration of small achievements that make you feel good has a compound effect on overall happiness and well-being.

And that is how I live my Martini Life.

At exactly 7.18 am today, cbmused.com clocked its 10,000 hits. A small milestone, I agree but one that deserves a mention, if only to thank every one of you for your support and your visits. The lucky winner, drumroll…. I am thrilled to announce wasn’t a random search for French manicure in a man, but none other than the Flamboyant Egan.

1,Martini cheers for you, Monsieur Singe!

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While on the subject of blogger friends, a Martini Cheer goes to the gorgeous Lil Bit with the “purple soul” who has given me and General Boy the Brilliant Weblog Premio 2008 award. And for being sharp eyes with discreet minds, we get to share in her alphabet cookies. I’m not usually a sharing type of person, but having known Gboy for a while, as I like to call him, it’s an honour to be mentioned together. But I get to eat cookie C and Z for-zed-not-zee, okay?

A warm Martini cheer to both Lil Bit and Gboy!

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Thanks for all your responses to this week’s post, In the Buff. Although I asked intimate questions, it has raised some interesting facts and as a result I started a little experiment as I described in the comments. If anyone is willing to try something different, as it was mentioned by a couple of comments, please feel free to add to the comments here and I will keep comments open longer than the usual period.

And a Martini cheer goes to sleeping in the buff!

Have a great weekend everyone!

You’re walking along with your posture straight and your eyes pointed directly ahead. Engrossed in your private world. Absorbed with thoughts of anything. Or nothing.

Then you spot an approaching stranger. You look at her, and your mind processes archived images. You avert her gaze and continue walking. In the meantime, you ponder, is she/isn’t she? It has been a few years. It could well be. Instantly, you compare her to the younger images stored in memories. And you wonder if she has recognised you. Possibly. Maybe. And you evaluate how much you’ve changed in comparison to her. How you’ve fared over the years.

By the time you reach your destination, it longer matters. Today, you feel good and you look good. Your confidence would have shone like a bright star in the twilight sky. You conclude that you do indeed have the advantage. Then smile quietly to yourself.

Ask most men what they sleep in and they invariably answer “in the buff”. Unless you’re asking someone your dad’s generation - and I’d cock a brow as to why you would be - they’re more likely to mention the ugly word: pyjamas. But most men are usually quick to retort, with a glint in their eyes no less, that they sleep in the nude, as if the question was an invitation to check out their huge appendage. Occasionally, if push comes to shove, they may fess up to wearing the odd T-shirt to bed.

I am a big fan of going to bed au naturel. There’s nothing like the sensual feel of slipping into bed and feeling the coolness of the sheets against your skin. And on those sleep-deprived nights when you toss and turn in bed, your body does not feel restricted. If you share your bed with another person, the feel of skin on skin as you drift off to sleep is soothing and comforting. Amongst other rewards.

I am also partial to a slinky nightie/chemise as an alternative, with cool sensual fabric that is super soft and feels like second skin. None of these boxer sets or boy shorts for me during summer months. If I wear something to bed, I like to feel feminine, sensual and not in a little girlie fashion.

But come wintertime, even with a feather and down doona and an electric blanket to turn up the heat, I feel the cold, which begs the question of what to wear to bed in the cooler months. My winter nighties were in dire need of replacement, and with very little fashionable choice around, I caved in and bought a set of PJ pants and tops like these. Admittedly, they looked pretty on but within minutes of going to bed, I tossed and turned and eventually kicked the PJ pants off. So it was back to the old tired winter nighties until I find a replacement I like that doesn’t look matronly, or cutesy, or restricts my body during sleep. When it comes to slipping into bed, I like to feel free.

What do you wear to bed during the summer/winter months?

Note: Addendum to this post can be found here.