I have never been a fan of the personalised number plate on vehicles. The purpose of such a vanity device, as I can see it, is to either advertise that you are a wanker, or help you remember your own vehicle. Either way, it is not me. This morning, I saw one of the most pathetic licence plates that I have yet witnessed. The plate read "IAMLIZ". So not only, does this vehicle owner need reminding of "who" her car is - but also herself.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Monday, August 30, 2004
Reflections....
For the lack of any salacious gossip in my current love-life, I thought I would reflect on beaus of old for a moment, as they prove far more entertaining.
I have been contemplating of late the curiosity that is "a good shag". There is the comment that has been said before that for men, any blow-job is a good blow-job. But what, pray tell, makes one stand out amongst all others as being more fabulous? Surely any orgasm achieved rates pretty well? Speaking as a woman (as I can by virtue of my chromosomes), not all sex is good sex. And sometimes a nice cup of tea is far more preferable.
I would often comment that my dear ex, N, was a "dud root". To his face. He knew it, I knew it. I could list the ways in which he could improve to enhance my enjoyment - but that would be just cruel. It is not like I didn't tell him what he needed to do to help things along a little - he just seemed uninterested - now there is something that really makes a woman feel desired!
But what was probably the most outstanding "dud root" of my life was S. I saw him a few years ago when I was going through my "dating a much older, wealthy man so I could feel girlish and delicate" phase. A short-lived phase I can tell you. It occurred to me about this time that chronological age means little - he was 17 years older than me and was probably the most immature man I have ever dated. But I digress.
All the warning signs were there for me, but I chose to ignore them. Prior to any intimacy, he related to me how he had asked an ex of his whether she found him "big enough". I thought it a curious enquiry, but really hoped that the fact that he had an expensive sports car was in no way compensatory. Apparently her response to the question was, "You are fine." Which I think in anyone's language says that you are completely inadequate for my needs. Suffice to say, not long after hearing this story, I was able to answer the question for myself. (Needless to say I don't date men with nice cars anymore!).
But I would not have you think that size is required to ensure a good time. (Of course, it doesn't hurt!). What is compulsory is a relaxed attitude, a willingness to explore and be explored, nimble tongue, combination of delicate and forceful fingers (as the occasion demands) and good stamina.
For the lack of any salacious gossip in my current love-life, I thought I would reflect on beaus of old for a moment, as they prove far more entertaining.
I have been contemplating of late the curiosity that is "a good shag". There is the comment that has been said before that for men, any blow-job is a good blow-job. But what, pray tell, makes one stand out amongst all others as being more fabulous? Surely any orgasm achieved rates pretty well? Speaking as a woman (as I can by virtue of my chromosomes), not all sex is good sex. And sometimes a nice cup of tea is far more preferable.
I would often comment that my dear ex, N, was a "dud root". To his face. He knew it, I knew it. I could list the ways in which he could improve to enhance my enjoyment - but that would be just cruel. It is not like I didn't tell him what he needed to do to help things along a little - he just seemed uninterested - now there is something that really makes a woman feel desired!
But what was probably the most outstanding "dud root" of my life was S. I saw him a few years ago when I was going through my "dating a much older, wealthy man so I could feel girlish and delicate" phase. A short-lived phase I can tell you. It occurred to me about this time that chronological age means little - he was 17 years older than me and was probably the most immature man I have ever dated. But I digress.
All the warning signs were there for me, but I chose to ignore them. Prior to any intimacy, he related to me how he had asked an ex of his whether she found him "big enough". I thought it a curious enquiry, but really hoped that the fact that he had an expensive sports car was in no way compensatory. Apparently her response to the question was, "You are fine." Which I think in anyone's language says that you are completely inadequate for my needs. Suffice to say, not long after hearing this story, I was able to answer the question for myself. (Needless to say I don't date men with nice cars anymore!).
But I would not have you think that size is required to ensure a good time. (Of course, it doesn't hurt!). What is compulsory is a relaxed attitude, a willingness to explore and be explored, nimble tongue, combination of delicate and forceful fingers (as the occasion demands) and good stamina.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
When is the right time?
I am in quandry dear blog-followers. I will admit to never fathoming the opposite sex (I think some of my entries here would prove that point), but what is the story with men and introducing friends? Let me clarify. B and I are now happily up to 7 weeks of dating, which I must say constitutes something of a long-term relationship in comparison of recent history for me. But so far I have not been introduced to even one of his friends. I know that men and women are very different creatures (and not just the dangly bits!) - actually to quote L7 (welcome home!!!), they are a different species entirely. When I am happily involved with someone, I want them vetted through my friends - perhaps as a confirmation that they aren't harbouring psychotic tendencies or something. Are men so self-assured that they don't need or desire someone else's opinion? Are they worried about their friend's opinion? Honestly I really don't know, but as time goes on I come up with crazier and crazier excuses. What brought this rant on? Being ditched by B so he could dine with his brother - hurrumph - me at home alone on a Saturday night - could be time to start inspecting the naval lint.
I am in quandry dear blog-followers. I will admit to never fathoming the opposite sex (I think some of my entries here would prove that point), but what is the story with men and introducing friends? Let me clarify. B and I are now happily up to 7 weeks of dating, which I must say constitutes something of a long-term relationship in comparison of recent history for me. But so far I have not been introduced to even one of his friends. I know that men and women are very different creatures (and not just the dangly bits!) - actually to quote L7 (welcome home!!!), they are a different species entirely. When I am happily involved with someone, I want them vetted through my friends - perhaps as a confirmation that they aren't harbouring psychotic tendencies or something. Are men so self-assured that they don't need or desire someone else's opinion? Are they worried about their friend's opinion? Honestly I really don't know, but as time goes on I come up with crazier and crazier excuses. What brought this rant on? Being ditched by B so he could dine with his brother - hurrumph - me at home alone on a Saturday night - could be time to start inspecting the naval lint.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
A sense of self-doubt and a revisit from the recent past
I have been overcome of late by a sense of inadequacy. I am not sure what brought this on. Theoretically all is going swimmingly in my life per se, but my brain has never been one to do as it is told. Despite what seems to be obvious signs of success to the outside world, I seem to always be plagued with a sense of never quite doing good enough. Maybe because I have found as I got older that I could do things without necessarily having to try very hard - not necessarily being incredibly successful at them, but not having to work hard maybe meant that I didn't appreciate the fact that others could not even achieve the limited modicum of success that I had achieved. I am determined to try and not let B see the mantle of self-assurance crack.... although there are chips in the glaze at the moment.
On another matter: I was enjoying my usual sunday night bevvie at my usual location with B when I was approached by a gentleman asking if I remembered him. [Note: at this point in time B was absent from our table.] The gentelman was dressed in what can best be described as "mafia casual" with an abundance of black without any definite sense of style. I, in fact, did remember him, but had to take a second look since it was "tracksuit man" making an attempt to look like a human. Thankfully for me, B returned and tracksuit man put 2 and 2 together and came up with his exit call.
I have been overcome of late by a sense of inadequacy. I am not sure what brought this on. Theoretically all is going swimmingly in my life per se, but my brain has never been one to do as it is told. Despite what seems to be obvious signs of success to the outside world, I seem to always be plagued with a sense of never quite doing good enough. Maybe because I have found as I got older that I could do things without necessarily having to try very hard - not necessarily being incredibly successful at them, but not having to work hard maybe meant that I didn't appreciate the fact that others could not even achieve the limited modicum of success that I had achieved. I am determined to try and not let B see the mantle of self-assurance crack.... although there are chips in the glaze at the moment.
On another matter: I was enjoying my usual sunday night bevvie at my usual location with B when I was approached by a gentleman asking if I remembered him. [Note: at this point in time B was absent from our table.] The gentelman was dressed in what can best be described as "mafia casual" with an abundance of black without any definite sense of style. I, in fact, did remember him, but had to take a second look since it was "tracksuit man" making an attempt to look like a human. Thankfully for me, B returned and tracksuit man put 2 and 2 together and came up with his exit call.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
By any other name
You would think that names are a simple thing. Your parents spend much time contemplating the names that are designated for their progeny - given that they are going to be saying that name for their rest of their lives: they had better like the sound of it. My mother had originally thought to call be "Deanne", which may I say, although a nice enough name I am sure, it is just not me. One name that she had ruled out from a very early stage was "Megan" - I think she had a very long plane flight once with a mother who was constantly calling out "Meeeeeegan" repeatedly that it etched a painful neural pathway for my mother. Eventually my mother decided to name me after herself (well a variation on the theme anyway) and always uses the full name to refer to me. Of course, this means that whenever my name is said in its entirety - I immediately infer a parental calling.
As is the Australian way, all names must be shortened to become socially acceptable. Thankfully, I have one of those names that is shortened quite easily and acceptably so. So there is a heirarchy of name calling that I have found in my life.
Stage 1: Cathryn - Parental term only. When uttered from the mouths of the parental units it feels perfectly natural. From anyone else, it can seem a little pretentious.
Stage 2: Cathy - Socially acceptable and the fall-back position for introductions. This proves to be the most common name that I am referred to.
Stage 3: Cath - This is the pinnacle. Reserved for intimate partners and the very best of friends. If someone leaps to this level too early - I can be violent. This presumes a level of intimacy that cannot be faked or circumvented.
Stage 4: Any other names - whether they be within the confines of a relationship or from friends, these names generally remain private. Although my ex-husband used to call me "Muff" - can I tell you that it was a little disconcerting - perhaps he should have just called me "Labia" and just got all pretext out of the way.
Alain de Botton (the demi-God) discusses the issue of name calling in "On Love" and nails on the head when he declares that the use of intimate names really does suggest a level of knowlege that the rest of the world does not possess.
So what I am wondering is why B insists on calling me by my full proper name. My mother loves it - she thinks it is great that someone is using my proper name. But I can tell you it feels a little wrong at a moment of passion to hear my "parent's" name being used. I suppose I should be thankful that it is still MY name I am hearing and not someone else's.
You would think that names are a simple thing. Your parents spend much time contemplating the names that are designated for their progeny - given that they are going to be saying that name for their rest of their lives: they had better like the sound of it. My mother had originally thought to call be "Deanne", which may I say, although a nice enough name I am sure, it is just not me. One name that she had ruled out from a very early stage was "Megan" - I think she had a very long plane flight once with a mother who was constantly calling out "Meeeeeegan" repeatedly that it etched a painful neural pathway for my mother. Eventually my mother decided to name me after herself (well a variation on the theme anyway) and always uses the full name to refer to me. Of course, this means that whenever my name is said in its entirety - I immediately infer a parental calling.
As is the Australian way, all names must be shortened to become socially acceptable. Thankfully, I have one of those names that is shortened quite easily and acceptably so. So there is a heirarchy of name calling that I have found in my life.
Stage 1: Cathryn - Parental term only. When uttered from the mouths of the parental units it feels perfectly natural. From anyone else, it can seem a little pretentious.
Stage 2: Cathy - Socially acceptable and the fall-back position for introductions. This proves to be the most common name that I am referred to.
Stage 3: Cath - This is the pinnacle. Reserved for intimate partners and the very best of friends. If someone leaps to this level too early - I can be violent. This presumes a level of intimacy that cannot be faked or circumvented.
Stage 4: Any other names - whether they be within the confines of a relationship or from friends, these names generally remain private. Although my ex-husband used to call me "Muff" - can I tell you that it was a little disconcerting - perhaps he should have just called me "Labia" and just got all pretext out of the way.
Alain de Botton (the demi-God) discusses the issue of name calling in "On Love" and nails on the head when he declares that the use of intimate names really does suggest a level of knowlege that the rest of the world does not possess.
So what I am wondering is why B insists on calling me by my full proper name. My mother loves it - she thinks it is great that someone is using my proper name. But I can tell you it feels a little wrong at a moment of passion to hear my "parent's" name being used. I suppose I should be thankful that it is still MY name I am hearing and not someone else's.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
And now for something more interesting...
There have been complaints that this blog has been a little too romantic of late, so I am hoping that I can now offer a return to form.
My flatmate, T, is going through a stage in life where he seems most happy to entertain numerous young ladies. In my absence, he has met up with a few ladies from the internet and recently I had the opportunity to meet one of these women.
Following my holiday, B and I wanted to spend some alone time together on the weekend. This is proving most difficult with both of us having flatmates who don't ever seem to go out. Anyway, we were at home on Saturday night enjoying a bottle of bubbly and each other's company when T's newest guest arrived. She is a petite blonde (although I think chemistry is involved far more than Mother Nature), who possessed a nail-scratching laugh and a penchant for lurid eye-shadow. Thankfully, T and her retreated at some point to the safety of his bedroom (with her screeching for candles en route).
In the wee hours of the morning when I required a bathroom visit, I noted that there was a toothbrush and toothpaste that I didn't recognise beside the sink. I thought it most curious. When I finally rose in the morning, I was greeted by the two of them, and she was wearing pyjamas - of her own.
I do have to wonder about the mental state of a person who turns up on the first night carrying an overnight bag worth of supplies. I fear that she may be "husband-hunting" with my flatmate - and in that, she will be sorely disappointed.
There have been complaints that this blog has been a little too romantic of late, so I am hoping that I can now offer a return to form.
My flatmate, T, is going through a stage in life where he seems most happy to entertain numerous young ladies. In my absence, he has met up with a few ladies from the internet and recently I had the opportunity to meet one of these women.
Following my holiday, B and I wanted to spend some alone time together on the weekend. This is proving most difficult with both of us having flatmates who don't ever seem to go out. Anyway, we were at home on Saturday night enjoying a bottle of bubbly and each other's company when T's newest guest arrived. She is a petite blonde (although I think chemistry is involved far more than Mother Nature), who possessed a nail-scratching laugh and a penchant for lurid eye-shadow. Thankfully, T and her retreated at some point to the safety of his bedroom (with her screeching for candles en route).
In the wee hours of the morning when I required a bathroom visit, I noted that there was a toothbrush and toothpaste that I didn't recognise beside the sink. I thought it most curious. When I finally rose in the morning, I was greeted by the two of them, and she was wearing pyjamas - of her own.
I do have to wonder about the mental state of a person who turns up on the first night carrying an overnight bag worth of supplies. I fear that she may be "husband-hunting" with my flatmate - and in that, she will be sorely disappointed.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
One would think that time away in a restful environment with nothing to do but to contemplate my life, I would have a plethora of things to entertain the readers with. I have to admit that I have had no amazing life-changing thoughts, sudden urges to shift my direction in life or a great realization of where I am going and what I want. I have happily rested. I have read; I have swum; I have sun-baked. Not the sort of stuff that really gets people jumping on-line for.
I have had phone calls every night from B, one of which involved him falling asleep to find that he had made an 8 hour call to me. He took it in stride and amazingly it did not dissuade him from jumping to call me the very next night. Perhaps it is love? It is a nice thought isn't it dear reader. I can honestly say that it has been a long time since I have felt the palpitations that I am experiencing.
Before my holidays I had to pick up the ex, N, from hospital after a minor procedure. On the way home in the car, he rang his girlfriend (who I have finally met and she is lovely). She was asking after him and ended the conversation with the obligatory "Love you", which he freely reciprocated. It is funny that there is so much anticipation with the first "I love you". Who will say it first? Will it be reciprocated? Will it change anything in the relationship? When should it be said (hint: post-coitally/at height of orgasm is NEVER convincing!)?
I fear that I am falling for B, but as long as it is not into an abyss - I should be ok.
I have had phone calls every night from B, one of which involved him falling asleep to find that he had made an 8 hour call to me. He took it in stride and amazingly it did not dissuade him from jumping to call me the very next night. Perhaps it is love? It is a nice thought isn't it dear reader. I can honestly say that it has been a long time since I have felt the palpitations that I am experiencing.
Before my holidays I had to pick up the ex, N, from hospital after a minor procedure. On the way home in the car, he rang his girlfriend (who I have finally met and she is lovely). She was asking after him and ended the conversation with the obligatory "Love you", which he freely reciprocated. It is funny that there is so much anticipation with the first "I love you". Who will say it first? Will it be reciprocated? Will it change anything in the relationship? When should it be said (hint: post-coitally/at height of orgasm is NEVER convincing!)?
I fear that I am falling for B, but as long as it is not into an abyss - I should be ok.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
The brain is on holidays....
I am still on holidays in a lovely tropical location where the major stress of the day is deciding which cocktail to begin the afternoon cocktail hour with. (That was bad grammar wasn't it - oh well, sue me!). Having a delightful time sunning myself, between bouts of shopping and a little bit of gastro. Will leave all the delightful details out, but suffice to say, I have decided that beer is the safest drink to consume whilst away!
Holidaying with colleagues (and former colleagues) is interesting to say the least. One of my girlfriends (who has just returned home), is a delight to travel with. We can easily do our own thing, and meet at important times of the day - a la cocktail hour. My other girlfriend here, P, is a little more stressful to be with. She wants to talk shop. Always a worrying thing the concept of holidaying with friends. Sometimes, the holiday can fast-track the death knell for the friendship.
I am spending many hours on ISD phone calls to B - missing him, with a bit of reciprocal miss on his behalf as well I believe. I think when I get home there will be some delivered pizzas and no contact with the outside world for many hours. Sigh.
I am still on holidays in a lovely tropical location where the major stress of the day is deciding which cocktail to begin the afternoon cocktail hour with. (That was bad grammar wasn't it - oh well, sue me!). Having a delightful time sunning myself, between bouts of shopping and a little bit of gastro. Will leave all the delightful details out, but suffice to say, I have decided that beer is the safest drink to consume whilst away!
Holidaying with colleagues (and former colleagues) is interesting to say the least. One of my girlfriends (who has just returned home), is a delight to travel with. We can easily do our own thing, and meet at important times of the day - a la cocktail hour. My other girlfriend here, P, is a little more stressful to be with. She wants to talk shop. Always a worrying thing the concept of holidaying with friends. Sometimes, the holiday can fast-track the death knell for the friendship.
I am spending many hours on ISD phone calls to B - missing him, with a bit of reciprocal miss on his behalf as well I believe. I think when I get home there will be some delivered pizzas and no contact with the outside world for many hours. Sigh.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Blogging from foreign locales....
Yet again I am over the seas and far away from home, but this time it is for pleasure and not work. I am travelling with my mother, two women I work/ed with, the mother of one of them and the son of the other. It makes an interesting and cross-generational travelling group. My biggest issue is the fact that I never (well, ok, rarely) travel with people. I tend to enjoy my own company and when on holidays revel in that. Being with people so many hours of the day is draining - but even more so when one of the persons is dominating and another is a black-hole for all the joy in the universe (and apparently a scarey religious nut to boot!).
Two days in and I have been intrigued by the following phenomena; the word "Taksi" being proudly displayed over cars for hire; a meal for seven with drinks for $14; tattooed fish; changeable prices according to "what I want to pay"; the fact that monkey testicles are bigger than humans; and warm smiles of the locals despite the obvious (to me) poverty.
Yet again I am over the seas and far away from home, but this time it is for pleasure and not work. I am travelling with my mother, two women I work/ed with, the mother of one of them and the son of the other. It makes an interesting and cross-generational travelling group. My biggest issue is the fact that I never (well, ok, rarely) travel with people. I tend to enjoy my own company and when on holidays revel in that. Being with people so many hours of the day is draining - but even more so when one of the persons is dominating and another is a black-hole for all the joy in the universe (and apparently a scarey religious nut to boot!).
Two days in and I have been intrigued by the following phenomena; the word "Taksi" being proudly displayed over cars for hire; a meal for seven with drinks for $14; tattooed fish; changeable prices according to "what I want to pay"; the fact that monkey testicles are bigger than humans; and warm smiles of the locals despite the obvious (to me) poverty.
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