Feedback not quite fed back

For those regular followers, the date on Saturday went passably. We ended up seeing "Alfie", which really just gave me an excuse to look at Jude Law on screen for a wee while. As for the gentleman in question - no immediate sparks, but I will try and not be too overly critical after one meeting. Interestingly, following the date he and I chatted briefly on Messenger, and during this short conversation he felt the need to ask me for "feedback". I retorted that perhaps if he wanted "feedback", perhaps he should provide a questionnaire in future.

Miss Pear has had prior experience with dates wanting feedback. I thought it an interesting anecdote, but laughed off the possibility of the same occurring to me. Apparently, I laughed too soon.

If I were to be completely honest in some feedback to this gentleman, I fear that he would not see the community service that I was offering him. So in lieu of offering him the advice, that he so obviously needed, to his face - I will instead share it here for all to listen and learn from.

There are always going to be things that may annoy one person, but form nary a blip on someone else's radar. For me, talking during movies is an unforgivable sin. Despite his best intentions, to enquire after my recent poor health during the film, and the offer of a tissue "because I have a six pack on me", irked me somewhat.

I am quite old-fashioned when it comes to my dating expectations. Recently I have had to be reminded that many men revel in a woman's independence since it no longer necessarily requires them dipping their hands into their pocket. Although I think it a very convenient excuse to get out of paying for a date. Irrespective, there are definitely occasions when I feel it is appropriate to each pay for their share. And this date was one such occasion - but there are ways to phrase it. When approaching the ticket box, I was shocked to hear my date remark that I can pay for myself because he understands me being an "independent woman and all". It certainly wasn't the fact of paying for myself that caught me off guard, but his cavalier attitude with which he allowed me to pay.

The next most obvious criticism is his continued and persistent use of the word "wife". Having been on the marriage roundabout myself, I am not so naive to seek a partner that has never been formerly attached at this mature age. But any mention of his wife more often that twice in the first meeting smacks highly of not quite being over her yet. Further, feeling the need to explain and itemize their property settlement and his subsequent alimony payment schedule is certainly beyond good manners!

Finally, an hour spent in his company completely wore me out. I am known for an ability to converse above and beyond the norm. But I barely could get a word in. At one point, I gently suggested that he might want to relax. Just listening to him made me hypertensive. He insisted that he was relaxed and felt very comfortable in my company. HOLY. CRAP.

Will I see him again? The jury is out, but perhaps reaching a verdict. Happily, the next couple of weeks sees me very busy and out of the city for much of the time, thus making a second meeting impossible at this stage. So for me, perhaps a much needed dating sabbatical is just what the doctor ordered.

Interestingly, the most important facet of relating this story to friends was their consternation over what his pseudonym should be. It appears that no interesting date can go by initials alone (need I point out Tracksuit man and Shrek). So in honour of his predilection to great speed, he is to be known as Gonzalez.

Keep the month of June free - in 2019!

I had dinner with my future husband last night. Unlike James Marsters, who doesn't yet know he is the preferred father of my children, this liaison is a possibility. My "fiance" and I made an agreement several years ago that if we were both still single when he turned 50, we would marry each other.

I know of a few women who also have similar pacts with good male friends, but this pact has been a prevalent part of my life for many years now. My chosen beau is a friend whom I have known since I was 17, and has been an on and off again prescence in my life since then.

We met at university; first day, first lecture, where due to a combination of my yawning (and hence a prominent chest), and his wandering eye, we formed a happy friendship. Youth, insecurity and nerves all coalesced to ensure that neither of us would ever declare the secret yearning that our pubescent hormones were experiencing. Many years, and a failed marriage later, over a bottle of wine, the truth was finally outed, much to the astonishment of both us. A fumbled attempt at intimacy ensued, where it was decided that it was a little too fraternal for comfort.

But despite our respective spasmodic relationships, the dormant pact has always remained in the deep posterior of our cerebella.

Now if this was a Hollywood chick-flick, the main characters would actively avoid the inevitable marriage pact until the closing scene. Whereby at this point, they would realise that their one true love was in fact their long-suffering friend and fellow pact-maker. The marriage that then follows would no longer be out of desperation, but out of the lightening bolt realisation of true and abiding love.

But that of course is Hollywood where the idea of ending up an old crazy lady, with cats is both laughable and a seeming impossibility. We all know that reality can be a whole lot different.... so how many cats do I need before I am considered crazy?

Three strikes?

I could try and make this entry some profound and enlightening epistle on discoveries of late, but I am afraid that inspiration is thin on the ground these days.

I have of course returned to the fray of dating - or at least attempting to.

Two dates in the past week probably counts as a relatively high score, although the first didn't realise it was a date. To quote himself, "Is this a date? I thought we were just catching up!". I declined my urge to define that "catching up" infers a previous meeting, from which you establish what has happened since that time. Considering this was our first meeting, "catching up" was an ill-suited interpretation of our evening. Further, I must admit that when a gentleman gives you his phone number, it implies a certain amount of interest on his behalf. Perhaps I am naive in such matters, but I assumed that we were at least of an understanding with this at least. Apparently not. The evening ended with him declaring, despite his earlier protestations about lack of interest in relationships, that he would definitely be calling me. To his credit, he already has. Twice.

My second date was destined always to be little more than a drink and a chat. Too young and immature. Too much arrogance. No chemistry.

Tomorrow I have a date with another gentleman, whom I met via the internet. I do not know what he looks like, although he has seen a (very flattering if I say so myself) photo of myself. The whole concept of meeting someone in a public place at an appointed time smacks far too much of "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail" for my liking. I am certainly no Meg Ryan, and I certainly do not desire to meet my equivalent Tom Hanks. I did offer, with heavy irony, to turn up with a red carnation, for ease of identification.

Apparently we are to meet for a movie - my choice. So what do I pick? Do I suggest "Kinsey" or is it inappropriate on a first meeting to see a movie dealing with sex and society. Or should I tread safer ground and offer to see some brainless pap like "Elektra", which will at least not plant ideas, but may give my date plenty of opportunity to ogle Jennifer Garner. Happily, no matter what we see, it shall provide ease from any potentially awkward silences, and an excuse for me to get to the movies this weekend.

Heaven on a stick

What defines your Nirvana? Where do you go to reclaim some sense of self and some inner calm?

Some people meditate - but I just end up falling asleep. Some people like to get in touch with nature, be it gardening, or just wandering in a park. Movies can be a wonderful escape, but if the movie is disappointing, then it negates the entire experience. Cooking can be cathartic, but sometimes the emotions are too much in turmoil to give the food the proper attention it deserves. Reading sometimes requires more energy and focus than you may be capable of giving. Physical activity is where some people can release emotion and draw some solace. Heck, I am sure this is part of the reason some people seek out religion. But none of these options quite suit me.

Today I sought out my one true location for respite. A place that guarantees an even rate of breathing, a happy countenance, and just for a little while, all seems good in the world. Wandering around in my little piece of paradise, my thoughts could happily bounce around - none resting too long to ever become too bothersome. My mind could think of times when life seemed easier and troubles fewer.

Where was I dear blog-follower? Stationery. Shopping amongst pens and paper, rulers and folders. A sea of consumables, and diaries, and noticeboards. Erasers and protractors, and all manner of implements.

There you go. The two things that make my life the curiosity and wonderment that it is, and provide me with endless joy: stationery and butchers.

What does one do when one meets a gentleman who seems absolutely delightful and makes one swoon?

Well, if you are me, you will fuck it up as soon as you are able. Since the post of only a few days ago, THE boy has taken "a few steps back". I think this is grown up language for "You're dropped".

Social zenith?

This is a curious time of year for me. I think that 12 years of schooling, followed by several at university has meant that December/January will always be associated with holidays. I find it difficult to be particularly motivated, because I have forever etched this time of year with summer holiday work and the wait till classes resume.

At the moment, I am itching for something to do. I am on "summer break" from tap dancing, choir and book club. Thus, I find that my nights stretch endlessly on, and the weekend can only be filled up with DVD's and housework. It does lead me to wonder, what do "normal" people do with their time? I don't watch television (and certainly not to just fill in time). I don't have a home to renovate, or a garden to garden. I have no desire to make quaint and interesting folk art pieces. I don't want to press flowers or make my own candles. Basically, I don't want to do anything to degenerate myself into any more of a sad fuck than I already am!

So today, I joined the library. Oh yeah, I am at the cutting edge of the Melbourne social scene.

Three positives and one negative

For those who are wondering, I have as yet not purchased a cat. When I told a girlfriend of mine of my intentions, she declared that I would be better at "looking after a man" than I would be "looking after a cat". I think that speaks volumes. Considering my record with boyfriends, it would be a crime to leave me in charge of an animal one would think.

So a new year has begun and, so has my never-ending cycle of partner hunting. The boy-du-jour is lovely and sweet. He is a far departure from B, but this could be neither bad nor inappropriate. Positive things of note in the new boy (note: as yet he is NOT the boyfriend, nor even MY boy, so for now, just THE boy):
1. He has a piercing; not ear, not penis, but happily positioned for my benefit.
2. He is neat. And when I say neat, I mean " towel edges straight, books aligned just-so" neat. Be still my anal beating heart! *sigh*
3. He is very affectionate. Displays of physical affection are many and varied - and given with little self-consciousness.

Negative things:
1. He has a son. From his second (yes, second) marriage.

Keep posted fellow bloggers......